Sheriff Charley Brown: Chapter 32

Paula Annette Evans came into the world on the afternoon of April 6 at a Chicago hospital. Labor pains had begun at daylight that Thursday morning with contractions soon occurring nearly every ten minutes. Marguerite knew from her mother's experience that it was time to prepare for the birthing. Paul managed to find a hackney driver who delivered them to the hospital quickly.

Upon Marguerite's admittance, a nurse called Paul aside. "It will be quite a few hours until the birth since this is her first. You may as well leave for your work, or go home."

Paul immediately became incensed, "Nothing doing, I'm staying here until the baby arrives, and my wife is out of danger."

"You can stay with her until the last hour or so, then you'll be required to leave."

Marguerite's pains became closer and closer as the morning hours passed. When the doctor checked her at noon, he said, "Perhaps in the next two or three hours. She is doing fine and is beginning to dilate."

Shortly after one p.m. Marguerite complained, "The contractions are getting harder and longer. Oh Paul! Call the nurse, my water has broken and I'm flooding the bed."

The nurse cleaned her up and put fresh soakers under her. Then she washed Marguerite thoroughly with a disinfectant. She turned to Paul, "I think you had better leave now. This child will be here quite soon, far sooner than we expected. I'll get the doctor now."

Three hours later when Paul was called to the room, he found Marguerite proudly cuddling the baby to her breast. She smiled weakly, "Our daughter is going to be called Paula Annette Evans. Annette is for my Mother."

Paul was in rapture as he leaned over to admire the child. He laughed, "I agree! If it was a boy I was to name him. If a girl, it was to be your choice. But where did you get the name Paula?" He was still smiling.

"It just seemed right somehow," she teased. "Now, I'm going to take a nap. Paula doesn't seem to want to nurse much."

"They seldom do at first," the nurse replied. "Within hours your breasts will fill more. Then you'll find a hungry child."

Marguerite and the baby stayed in the hospital five days before leaving for home. She found her breasts provided more than adequate sustenance for her baby. Paul's mother, Grace, eased her work the first few evenings at home, arriving in time to help with supper. Marguerite was relieved when nothing was said about the early delivery. It seemed accepted as a fact of life.

A month passed and she became impatient to return to her artwork. She brought the subject up several times, but Paul discouraged her. "Marguerite, we don't need the money and you've a baby to care for. She's the most important thing."

"Yes, Paul, but I'm cooped up in this small house day after day. It's time we bought a horse and buggy. We have the barn behind the house -- hay and oats aren't that expensive. I've plenty of experience at handling a horse or even a team. Besides, we can use my painting money and it will allow Paula and me to get out into the sunshine. It's June, and the weather is so warm and delightful."

He mused over the idea for moments, and then smiled. "Fine, that's a good idea. I had been thinking it time to have our own rig. I'll see about a good buggy horse, but not a young one. Buggies are quite reasonable, and a horse shouldn't cost more than one hundred dollars."

In July Marguerite found a reliable woman to baby sit Paula on afternoons; she threw caution to the winds, accepting a commission to paint two young children. Paul grumbled a bit, but withdrew his objection when she presented him with a check for four hundred dollars.

He shook his head, amazed, "My gosh, Marguerite. It takes me three months to make that much money." He smiled ruefully, "It seems I've married a gold mine."

Their love and commitment was strong and she agreed to limit her work to an occasional painting. She often slipped over to the Institute to take in an afternoon class, always careful to return home early, in time to make supper.

She began a serious study of the old masters, but never copied their paintings. She marveled how they found material to make their various colors, especially the brilliant ones. Nowadays, paints came already prepared, stored in small lead tubes.

Near the end of August Paula weighted nearly fifteen pounds. She was alert and followed light and sound with her eyes, and would lift her head when spoken to. Marguerite had misgivings about Paula's light hair. She had not inherited the dark hair from her mother's side of the family. She realized Paul's hair was a dark brown, but perhaps Paula's would darken later. Her daughter's facial features were much like her own, showing little evidence of Charley. She definitely had a light golden tone to her skin, an indication of native ancestry. Marguerite determined she would protect this birth secret to the grave.

As the months went by, both Paul and Marguerite became immersed in their everyday work. Paul was promoted to supervisory position in the company offices and Marguerite found herself specializing in painting children. A loving bond grew between them, and on Saturdays and Sundays their time was spent with Paula.

Although Charley had rented out his farmland along the border, his official business became so pressing that he found little time to share work with his partner. It bothered his conscience, but John never complained.

On January 13 the new brick courthouse was finished amid much fanfare. Later that spring the new schoolhouse opened. A massive flood of the Red River had begun. The railroad tracks from the Y to St. Vincent were soon under water.

On one of his many trips to the courthouse Charley heard a rumor his friend Nelson E Nelson, the telegrapher, had been offered $10,000 for his farm just southwest of town, an enormous price at the time. He decided to stop by on his way downtown to rub him.

"Nels, maybe we both better sell out. Are you really going to accept that offer? Where did you find a chump like that?"

Nels smiled modestly, "It's on the up and up Charley. I'm going to do a lot of thinking on it. Say, are you going after that lothario, Joseph Fay?¹ I hear he's got a young schoolgirl pregnant."

Charley laughed, "He's already in our new jail at the courthouse. He might get away with it if he marries her."

"How come you didn't move into the sheriff's quarters they built in the new courthouse? I hear it's plush."

"My old place over the bar is handier. 'Sides, the river is mighty high for April; it'll bear close watching. The Selkirk steamboat is already busy moving freight over to St. Vincent, even carrying cargo to the railroad Y east of town."

"Yup, word on the telegraph tells me several houses in Fargo are floating around. It's far worse there, still all that water is coming our way.”

Late on the afternoon of August 18 John Mager staggered into Charley's bar. One side of his head was covered with dark, ugly, caked blood. One of his pant legs from thigh downward was also saturated with blood. The man appeared weak and exhausted. "Charley, I shot a breed over at Walhalla today in self defense. I've come to turn myself in!"

Charley realized this man needed immediate medical attention. "We’ll get you over to the dentist’s room at the hotel; at least he'll be able to stop the bleeding until we can get Doc Harris from the fort. Some of you fellows give me a hand."

Mager's buggy was just outside, so Charley drove Mager to Geroux's after Mager was carefully lifted to the seat. Fortunately, the dentist was available and quickly began to clean up Mager. It was an hour before Charley was able to piece together the story from the distraught Mager. It came in bits and pieces as Dr. Harris arrived and began treating Mager’s wounds.

"Charley, some of the land I bought in Walhalla is now being surveyed as a street. There's a new hotel going up and years ago a few breeds buried people nearby. I had planned on moving the few graves on my land as it is private property, part of the Emerling Estate townsite. Antoine Valle and his brother brought a child over and insisted on the burial being on my property, even though there is a cemetery just adjoining. I refused to allow them to bury the child on my land and he became enraged. He seized an axe and came at me. I drew my gun and fired shots into the ground to distract him. But then he hit me on the head with the axe, the calf of my leg, then my thigh. He was crazy, he would have killed me, and so I shot him. He's dead."

Charley tried to calm him, "Why don't you stay here in the hotel tonight; if you feel able, tomorrow we'll go back with Justice Armstrong to hold an inquest. I know the temper of some of the breeds, especially if they've been drinking. We'll sort it out tomorrow. You probably were well justified in your action. Will you be comfortable here? If so, I'll see your horse is cared for at Mason's Livery. We can leave tomorrow, say about 9:00 a.m. Of course it'll depend upon Armstrong's being available and you feeling fit.”

At four p.m, the next afternoon Charley, Dr. Ross, and Justice Armstrong held a brief inquest on the body of Valle at Walhalla. Charley subpoenaed several witnesses since the final case would be tried at the courthouse in Pembina.

In late October the railroad line from Grafton to Winnipeg was finally completed, to be open soon. An imposing depot was built in Pembina to house a customs office, and telegrapher, with adequate storage for freight under-bond.

Dr. Charles Harris was contemplating moving into town from the fort, as a new commander and doctor were scheduled to arrive in October or November. The new commander was to be Lt. Col. Henry L. Chipman, the doctor, Captain Perley.

He discussed it with Charley. "I've learned a lot out there and they've treated me well. Still, I feel out of place; I was never meant for Army life. Granted, the teamsters out there took me anywhere I wanted to go and it was all-free. Still, I plan on getting a room at Geroux's. I'll have to purchase a horse and buggy too."

"You'll need a sleigh for the winter, also robes for travel. You might as well use mine until you can find something within reason. Mason's good on rentals too, he’s a fair man.”

"Eugene's taking good care of my Mother and the girls, but Susan wants to start nurse training at St. Boniface. I told her to go ahead. I can handle the expense."

Charley laughed, "Good thing too. She's been thick with that fellow, Clement, who is working with the government survey party. She's still pretty young for matrimony."

Charles smiled, "My thoughts, exactly!"

¹ - Fay, after his release from jail was tarred and feathered, tied to a pole and left on the south road toward the Fort. Dr. Harris took him to Joliette to Storms house to clean him and treat his burns. He left the Territory.

Pembina Methodist Church(es)

Built in early 1900's, burned down in 1937
I was checking out the State Archives of North Dakota's Digital Horizons online archives the other day, and came across these two photos of two churches in Pembina. The first one is the first Methodist church built in Pembina in the early 1900's.

Grace Episcopal Church, built 1886 - later repurposed as
Pembina Pioneer Memorial United Methodist Church

The second one was originally built as Grace Episcopal Church, and later re-purposed as a Methodist church. In 1994, Myrtle Hart of Pembina submitted the paperwork that successfully got the church listed on the National Registry of Historic Places.

From the submitted form comes this invaluable history of the church...

Brethren Revisited

I grew up around the Brethren and have written about them before. I knew them as the Plymouth Brethren, but I recently learned they actually go by Exclusive Brethren. For the most part, they are good people. They may not be like you or I, but they are good people. Like many from my area, I lived with them, went to school with them, played with them, shopped with them. Really not that unusual for any of us. Some in my own family were Brethren themselves in the past, I have learned. Others worked and broke bread with them.

I also have known some who left the Brethren, and each one had their own reasons. Their leaving took great courage because it meant cutting all ties to their families. It wasn't until I came across the group called PEEBS (which if I remember correctly is an acronym standing for People Escaping Exclusive Brethren) that I fully realized the magnitude of their actions and the consequences thereof. Each individual's story is unique of course, but they all have certain things in common.

WikiPEEBia is a website that...

...endeavors to investigate and report the Truth behind the Exclusive Brethren, a group of so-called Christians, and by so doing, help break the chains and break down the barriers that prevent us from seeing our families, friends and loved ones, trapped in what many are calling a bona fide Cult.

Our mission is to educate the media and help those who have left and those who wish to leave a vicious regime that is causing increasing concern world-wide.

Unbeknownst to me (and I'm sure most non-Brethren) - until now - was that at one time, the head of the entire Brethren (world-wide) was from our own neck-of-the-woods, a man by the name of James Symington.

According to PEEBS:

James H Symington - (1914-1987)

James Harvey Symington (JHS) was born to Lyle and Ida (Hughes) Symington on the 28th of August, 1913. He was a Neche, North Dakota, (USA) farmer. He was one of 11 children and was a grandson of Harvey and Louisa Hughes, who hosted the first brethren meeting in North Dakota in a building on their farm.

The family farm was on the wind-swept prairie two and a half miles from Neche. Young James rode a horse to and from town each day to complete a high school education. His theological foundation derived solely from his own studies of the bible and the ministry published by the brethren. He had no other post-secondary education.

Mr. Symington became leader of the brethren as a consequence of a number of fortuitous circumstances. James Taylor Junior died suddenly while the aftermath of the Aberdeen incident was still rippling through the brethren community. Many prominent brothers had been withdrawn from. Several had been summarily ejected in the parking lot of the Nostrand Avenue meeting room in New York by Mr. Taylor. Other prominent figures were variously out of favor. The two Hales brothers, John and Bruce, had recently been withdrawn from. It is not clear whether they had been restored before Mr. Taylor died. In the meantime, JHS had come unequivocally to the support of JT Jr, accepting Mr. Taylor's accounts of the incident without question. 

His loyalty was rewarded more quickly than he could possibly have expected. Mr. Symington's tenure as leader of the brethren was longer than any other twentieth century leader save James Taylor Senior.

It is said among the brethren that JT Jr "cast his cloak" upon JHS before he died, alluding to an Old Testament story of the selection of a successor by a dying prophet.

The Symington ministry is contained in a set of light brown volumes.

JHS developed the idea that the principal leader should approve all significant decisions. He exercised enormous control, approving weddings, permitting or not permitting people to re-locate, and determining who should be "shut up" or withdrawn from. Note that these decisions were ostensibly made locally, but local leaders were encouraged to seek approval from Mr. Symington. The Neche telephone exchange was expanded because of the volume of telephone calls to Mr. Symington.

JHS prophesied that computers "used for gain" were evil. (The phrase "used for gain" is apparently the loophole whereby the current leadership is allowed to use computers to operate the organization's publishing business.) While JT Jr had tolerated post-secondary education, JHS strongly discouraged it. Towards the end of his life, he actively suppressed any discussion that found value in higher education.

Mr. Symington invented the idea that grown family members should be more dependent on their local brethren than on their families. When a person visited a city where a sibling happened to live, such as while attending special meetings or for some other approved reason, they were often denied the simple pleasure of staying overnight in the sibling's home. Any such visit had to be approved by Mr. Symington and approval depended on the political fortunes of the requestor. Although there is no scriptural basis for this practice, Mr. Symington felt that there were parallels in the treatment of Moabites by the children of Israel and over time, the brethren began to refer to their out-of-town relatives as their Moabites.

One of the principle tenets of brethren doctrine is the belief that these are the "last days". While JT Jr and John Hales each predicted that the Lord would return during their lifetimes, JHS appears to have been a bit less bold. One correspondent recalls hearing him say in 1980 that he did not believe babies born that year would see five years.

JHS assigned meetings to divisions and sub-divisions. All meetings in a division became part of an "interchange".

JHS turned the fellowship into a cash machine, receiving an estimated US$1.5 million per year in brethren contributions. Non-brethren in Neche reported monthly invasions of busloads of brethren who would come to Neche from all over the world to hear the latest Symington ministry. At one point the Internal Revenue Service sent auditors to Neche to investigate possible tax evasion, but no charges were brought.

James Symington died in 1987. At his death he was blind from adult-onset diabetes. He was buried in Minneapolis, Minnesota, the closest meeting to Rochester, Minnesota, where he was being treated at the Mayo Clinic at the time of his death. The brethren had acquired a kidney dialysis machine for him. After his death it was donated to the hospital in nearby Cavalier, North Dakota.

Trivia: Garrison Keillor was raised in the Plymouth Brethren church in Minnesota; an interesting article about that, has Garrison sharing about his faith...

Alexander Henry's Diary - Part I

Pembina River Post (1802)

May:

We pass our time chasing buffalo, for which we have many good horses, and take plenty of sturgeon...An Indian made medicine to ask his Manitou whether a certain sick person would recover. He started his juggling after dark, and sang for a long time, keeping chorus with a rattle. At times he pretended to converse with a spirit, muttering very low; then he interpreted to the bystanders what his Manitou had told him concerning the case - the case and nature of the sickness, and then some crime committed which prevented the cure. Before his conversation with the spirit his juggling machine always appeared in motion, bending to and fro as if shaken by the wind, while he continued to sing with his utmost force, and appeared greatly agitated; when suddenly he ceased and appeared deeply engaged in discourse. This ceremony continued until after midnight, when he at last declared he was in doubt whether the sick person would recover or not.

Sep:

A boy about 10 years of age was putting his gun in order to shoot ducks; his old mother was sitting opposite in the tent, and observed he was giving himself trouble to no purpose, as he could not kill a duck. This was jocular, as she knew he was an excellent little hunter for his age, and he took it as such. Having loaded and primed his gun, he aimed it at the old woman's head, saying, "If I cannot kill a duck I can kill you, if I want to." The gun went off and blew her brains out. The lad's gun fell from his hands; when he recollected himself he declared he had no intention of shooting his mother, and could not account for the discharge. However, the old woman was dead; her brains and hair were sticking to the tent-pole near which she had been sitting. The lad appeared much afflicted, as he was very fond of her.

Oct:

Mr. Langlois and others started for the Hair hills. This caravan demands notice, to show the vast difference it makes in a place where horses are introduced. It is true they are useful animals, but if there were not one in all the North West, we should have less trouble and expense. Our men would neither be so burdened with families, nor so indolent and insolent as they are, and the natives in general would be more honest and industrious. Let an impartial eye look into the affair, to discover whence originates the unbounded extravagance of our meadow gentry, both white and native, and horses will be found one of the principal causes. Let us view the bustle and noise which attended the transportation of five pieces of goods to a place where the houses were built in 1801-02. The men were up at break of day and their horses tackled long before sunrise; but they were not ready to move before ten o'clock, when I had the curiosity to climb on top of my house to watch their motions and observe their order of march.

Antoine Payet, guide and second in command, leads the van, with a cart drawn by two horses and loaded with his private baggage, cassetête¹, bags, kettles, and mashqueminctes [?]⁸. Madame Payet follows the cart with a child a year old on her back, very merry. Charles Bottineu², with two horses and a cart loaded with 1 1/2 packs, his own baggage, and two young children with kettles and other trash hanging on to it. Madame Bottineau with a squalling infant on her back, scolding and tossing it about. Joseph Dubord goes on foot, with his long pipe-stem and calumet in his hand; Madame Dubord follows on foot, carrying his tobacco pouch with a broad bead tail. Antoine Thellier³, with a cart and two horses, loaded with 1 1/2 packs of goods and Dubois' baggage. Antoine La Pointe⁴ with another cart and horses, loaded with two pieces of goods and with baggage belonging to Brisebois, Jasmin, and Pouliot, and a kettle hung on each side. Auguste Brisebois⁵ follows with only his gun on his shoulder and a fresh-lighted pipe in his mouth. Michel Jasmin⁶ goes next, like Brisebois, with gun and pipe puffing out clouds of smoke. Nicolas Pouliot, the greatest smoker in the North West, has nothing but pipe and pouch. Those three fellows, having taken a farewell dram and lighted fresh pipes, go on brisk and merry, playing numerous pranks. Domin Livernois⁷, with a young mare, the property of Mr. Langlois, loaded with weeds for smoking, an old worsted bag (madame's property), some squashes and potatoes, a small keg of fresh water, and two young whelps howling. Next goes Livernois' young horse, drawing a travaille loaded with his baggage and a large worsted mashguemcate [?] belonging to Madame Langlois. Next appears Madame [John] Cameron's mare, kicking, rearing, and snorting, hauling a travaille loaded with a bag of flour, cabbages, turnips, onions, a small keg of water, and a large kettle of broth. Michel Langlois, who is master of the band, now comes on leading a horse that draws a travaille nicely covered with a new painted tent, under which his daughter and Mrs. Cameron lie at full length, very sick; this covering or canopy has a pretty effect in the caravan, and appears at a great distance in the plains. Madame Langlois brings up the rear of the human beings, following the travaille with a slow step and melancholy air, attending to the wants of her daughter, who notwithstanding her sickness, can find no other expressions of gratitude to her parents than by calling them dogs, fools, beasts, etc. The rear guard consists of a long train of 20 dogs, some for sleighs, some for game, and others of no use whatever, except to snarl and destroy meat. The total forms a procession nearly a mile long...

From Early Canadiana Online, Alexander Henry journals

¹ Cassetête is good French for tomahawk, literally something to break a head with, and may be intended here; copy so reads plainly. But F. cassette - casket - was the usual word with the voyageurs for any sort of a box in which they carried small articles, as distinguished from the large packs, sacks, bales, or other "pieces" of which most of their loads consisted. The curious word which follows kettles I cannot make out.

² Name reappearing in MS, and print as Battineau, Battimeau, and Bottureau. Charles is listed as voyageur N.W. Co., Lower Red r., 1802, and we shall find him with Henry to 1808.

³ Plainly so in copy; no other record noted.

⁴ Antoine Lapointe, voyageur N.W. Co., remains with Henry to 1808; he had been about 15 years in this country in Oct., 1818, when he was in Toronto as a witness in the Semple case. Joseph Lapointe is listed voyageur N.W. Co., Fort Dauphin, 1804. Michel Lapointe, listed, Nepigon, 1804.

⁵ Auguste Brisebois appears in print as Angus, evidently by mistaking the abbreviation "Aug." for "Ang." He remains with Henry to 1808. Joseph Brisebois was guide N.W. Co., Upper Re r., 1804. Michel Brisebois, one of the oldest inhabitants of Prairie de Chien, was made a judge by Lewis Cass, May 12th, 1819; died 1839.

⁶ Michel Jasmin, sometimes Jesmin, voyageur N.W. Co.; no record beyond 1804.

⁷ Dominic or Dominique Livernois; no further record.

⁸ "Interesting. I notice that earlier in the same passage, the author also uses the word "mashqueminetes." I don't know any Native American word exactly like "mashguemcate" or "mashqueminetes," but I bet they're supposed to be the Cree/Ojibway word for "bag," usually spelled Muskimoot in English (maskimot in Cree, mashkimod in Ojibway.) It fits in with the rest of the text anyway."

Laura Redish
Native Languages of the Americas

Old Film Stills

This is the druggist in Emerson, taken during the 1950 flood.
Harvest lunch break near Humboldt (circa 1950)
From Humboldt Centennial DVDs (2007)

I recently (finally!) bought the Humboldt Centennial DVDs that has the collected films of the Bockwitz family on them. They contain decades of filming done around my hometown area, priceless documentation of people and events of our times. I can't tell you how much they mean to me as I screen them, even though many of them were made before I was born. No matter - my family and my community had told me local history often and repeatedly, of which I could never get enough. I almost feel like I was there! Where I come from, people really care about each other and their communities and general. I'm pretty sure that's why it's had a special place in my heart, and always will...

Derby Excitement

Musher Odin Jorgenson of Grand Marais, Minn., arrives on schedule with his team at Frog Point near Buxton, N.D., Saturday during the Red River Dog Sled Derby. Herald photo by Eric Hylden

There was loud - but very happy - barking to be heard up and down the Red River Valley this weekend as the second running of the revived Red River Sled Dog Derby was run. According to the Grand Forks Herald, there were 20 teams competing.

Don Galloway is the winner of this year's race (Photo above shows Don with his partner and wife, August, from their Blogger profile...)

Sheriff Charley Brown: Chapter 31

February 25, 1882

It was still dark when Charley reached over to kill the shrill ring of his alarm clock. He had been forced to arise earlier than usual this morning because his cousin, Doctor Charles Harris, was due to arrive on the morning train from St. Paul. A glance at the bedroom windows assured him that it was still mighty cold outside; both panes were opaque, heavily covered with frost in spite of the storm sashes he had installed in the fall.

Hastily dressing, he touched a match to a burner on his oil stove to make coffee and toast. He noted his wall clock indicated 5:30 a.m., proving his cheap alarm had lost nearly a quarter hour in past days. After the pot began to boil he added a dash of cold water to settle the grounds.

A half-hour later he was at Mason's livery harnessing his bay. Backing the animal to a sleigh at the rear of the building he fastened the tugs, then returned inside to gather up a horse blanket and two buffalo robes.

Charles, now a full-fledged doctor, had been only seven years of age when Charley had last seen him. An inquisitive youth, he had pestered Charley constantly about his war experiences. Charles' Father, Jeremy Harris, had taken his young son to Harpers Ferry shortly after Union troops had overrun the town, exposing the youngster to scores of bodies piled like cord wood across bolstered wagons, casualties abandoned in the heat of battle. Charley guessed that sight had possibly given the boy the inclination to study medicine.

Gathering a robe snugly around his shoulders, he guided the horse east to the Red River ice, then up the Minnesota side to the St. Vincent depot. Securing his horse on the lee side of the building he carefully fastened the blanket over the animal. Stomping snow from his boots he entered the waiting room noting that Carl Gooding, the depot agent was already seated behind the grill. He was the only other occupant in the huge room, and was busy at the telegraph key.

"Come to meet the train? It's nearly an hour late - won't be in until around eight. They've had trouble down the line I expect. This blamed cold causes the outside steam lines to freeze up. Gosh, it's at least 35 below outside." Opening his half-door he moved to the potbelly stove in the center of the room. Lifting the lid he tossed in a half scuttle of coal from a badly battered bucket. "Not many passengers this winter. Trade has been slowing down since those boom years of '80 and '81."

Charley moved a chair nearer the stove to take advantage of its warmth. "Yup, they were good years for Jim Hill. He carried thousands of pilgrims and goods to Canada -- five trains a day, each way. At least he still gets all the farm grain to ship, naming his own price."

Gooding nodded. "Since I work for him I have to keep my mouth shut, but the carload rates are mighty high. It's the old saw, the rich get richer and the poor, poorer." He brightened, "I'm supposed to be getting a big shipment of frozen fish today, barrels and barrels of both Walleye and Northern Pike. Red Lake must be loaded with them."

"Next month they'll start spearing at the mouth of the Pembina River," said Charley, "The fish should begin running in mid-March."

Carl was curious, "What are you doing over here?"

"My cousin Charles Harris wired me that he would be arriving this morning. He's a doctor, coming to stay permanently."

"That's good news! Doctor Appel at the fort has been run ragged. I understand he's only contracted to take care of the soldiers at the fort. Lucky he treats anyone, 'course he charges the civilians. Too bad that other doctor and his son died of diphtheria. Where is your cousin going to stay?"

"Probably with me, temporarily. I don't know of his plans, but I'll take him out to the fort to meet Doc. Appel. I've already told Appel that Charles would arrive soon; he seemed tickled to welcome new talent."

Suddenly the outside door opened and a blast of cold air rolled across the floor. It was Leifer, the drayman¹. He ignored both men, moving to the stove while removing his heavy mittens. After long moments spent warming his hands he turned and began a brisk conversation with Gooding. An Icelander, he spoke broken English. Yet he spoke volubly, expecting Gooding to fully understand each word.

Unexpectedly, the telegraph key began to chatter, and as Gooding turned back into his office, he called over his shoulder, "The train should be here in five minutes. It left Hallock twenty-five minutes ago."

A faint rumble seemed to roll through the building as the train finally approached the station. Glancing out the window as the engine glided by the depot, Charley saw that behind the baggage car there were only two passenger cars. Steam leaked from coupled hoses between each car as the train squealed and thumped to a halt. A door on the first passenger car opened and the conductor swung down to the platform, dropping a metal stool beneath the steps. A jauntily dressed man appeared in the doorway carrying two bulging carpetbags; he was wearing a small dark derby hat, hardly appropriate for the frigid weather.

Charley laughed aloud as he walked outside, recognizing his cousin instantly; why he was the spitting image of his father! Approaching his cousin, with his hand outstretched, he smiled, "Judas, Charles, we'll have to get you some warm clothes. You'll freeze to death in that get-up."

His cousin grinned as he grasped his hand. "They don't make artic clothes back in Virginia. Thought I'd refit myself when I got here." He looked around at the deep snow and shivered dramatically, "Lead me to somewhere where it's warm."

"Got a trunk or other stuff?"

"It's checked in the baggage car, together with all my medical equipment and supplies."

"I'll get Leifer to take them to my place." He stopped momentarily to speak with the drayman who was rolling barrels from the baggage car onto his wagon, then turned to Charles. "Lets get over to Pembina. It'll only take a few minutes."

Crossing over the frozen Red River, Charles remarked, "I've never seen this much snow, not even in Baltimore."

"We'll lose it in April. Kind of expect high water this spring, there's just too much snow. Even the trains have had a hard time with track blockages. 'Sides that, we've had 40-45 degree below temperatures on several days so far."

"You wrote that there's an Army fort near town. Do they have a doctor?"

"They do. He's a good man, spreads himself pretty thin though. He takes care of all he can."

"I'd like to meet him."

"You will, I'll see to that. You'll need introductions to all the important people around. I'll tend to that too. You might as well stay with me until you get settled, I've lots of room."

Charles smiled, then said teasingly, "I heard Josey Watson made a trip out here with matrimony in mind. Did you evade that trap?"

"Charley grinned wryly, "I'm still single!"

Finally entering Pembina his cousin remarked, "I hate to impose on you, but I'll appreciate every bit of your help. Do they have an apothecary here, with plenty of medications?"

"Yes. Wilkins is the pharmacist, almost a doctor. He does the best he can, but he's of limited experience. Charley swung the sleigh around in front of his store. "We don't open for business until 10 o'clock, but we'll go inside. Anything is those bags you have that will freeze?"

"No, just clothing."

"Then leave them in the sleigh until we go upstairs. I'll leave the blanket on the horse; it'll be all right for a few minutes. We'll throw some coal on the stove while we're inside, also make coffee. Or would you rather have a stiff drink?"

Charles smiled, "Both sound great! I'm mighty chilled.” Tossing his hat on the bar as they entered the building, he walked over to the stove, saying, "I won't need that derby until spring."

****************

It was turning daylight when Charley heard loud thumping noises coming from his kitchen. Sleepily, he pulled on his trousers to find his cousin Charles prowling the kitchen. He was placing plates, cups and silverware on the table. He already had the coffee pot on the kerosene stove with the burner lit. Water dripping from the lip of the kitchen pump, indicating it was the culprit causing the noise.

Charley grumbled, "Gosh, Charles, I thought after all that coffee and those drinks we had last night you would want to sleep in."

"That's what woke me up. I had to take a leak! 'Sides that, you need to trim the wicks on your stove, it smokes."

"I know, but it suits me. What do you want to do today? I'd suggest we get you outfitted for the weather first thing, else you'll freeze in those city clothes.”

"Best I do that, then I'd like to see Eugene. After that I'll stop to say hello to your Mother." He hesitated, "Do you suppose we'd have time to see that doctor at the fort this afternoon?"

"Sure! It sounds like the wind is down. If it gets up with all this loose snow, nothing will move." He sat down heavily at the table, and then leaned the chair back to a comfortable angle. "I might as well tell you now - my Mother and I aren't getting along. She's as bull-headed as ever."

While Charley related his recent problems with his mother, Charles listened intently, and then said, "I'll not let Eliza involve me." He laughed, "I'll stay neutral. Say! Where do you keep your eggs, bacon, potatoes and bread? I'm darned hungry!"

After getting Charles outfitted with winter apparel at Yerxa's store, Charley directed him to Eugene's house. Walking in the sled tracks in the center of the street was no problem, but when Charles cut from the road he found the snow knee-deep. Entering the screened porch he stamped his feet noisily to shake the snow from his boots. The door opened partially and Eugene peered out. "Charles! Is that you? Where in heck did you come from?"

"Got in on the train this morning. Charley picked me up. Is your Mother here with the girls?"

"They won't be here until sometime in April. Got a letter a few days ago. They had trouble getting the money from the sale of the house. It's best they come later anyway. It'll be warmer then. Come on in before the house cools off. I'll refill the coffee pot; I already drank up the first batch.”

As Eugene puttered in the kitchen, he asked, "Want to stay with me for awhile -- I've lots of room."

“I haven't made plans yet. Charley offered me quarters too. He's taking me out to meet the doctor at the fort this afternoon. I want to get acquainted with him, don't want any hard feelings about crowding him. Charley says he's a good man."

"Yup! He’s hard pressed too! He has enough problems with the soldiers during the winter. They've got about 140 men out there." He removed the center two rings of the stove lid, placing the coffee pot directly over the open flame.

Reaching into a cabinet he took down a cup.

"I failed to bring heavy clothing with me. I never anticipated it would be this cold, but Charley got me outfitted this morning. I'm having a few medicines shipped in, although Charley says you've got a drug store here. Maybe I wasted some money."

"Wilkens runs the drug store, he even tries to help when someone is sick. He's not got much on hand though. Money is short, but he might buy your supplies."

"It was mighty short back home too, and too many doctors in Charleston. The schools are turning them out fast. How is Eliza getting along?"

Eugene chuckled, "Ask Charley, he'll sure tell you!"

"I've already heard his version. He mentioned she talked Josey into coming out, hoping to marry him."

"That she did, but it didn't work out. He already had a good-looking girl friend. She dumped him, but it was his own fault."

"Where does Eliza live?"

"Just two blocks north, then left, second house on the south side, it's a white, two-story with outside stairs to the upper floor. You can't miss it."

It was nearing eleven when Eugene and Charles concluded their conversation. Charles then decided he would make his meeting with Eliza as brief as possible. At Eliza's, he was treated to a diatribe of how she had foiled Charley's involvement with the breed girl.

Charles listened dutifully, and then made his excuses to leave. Joining Charley at the saloon, they walked across the street to have lunch at Lucien Geroux's hotel.

Lucien greeted Charles with enthusiasm. "We've finally got a doctor! Oh, Appel is good, but he just can't handle all the pox and other diseases. He quarantines the fort if anyone in the two towns gets a transmittable disease, but he can't force the civilians to quarantine their own homes. We need that!"

Charles agreed. He turned to Charley, "Doesn't the town council enforce the quarantine on smallpox, chicken pox, measles and mumps?"

"It's been a voluntarily thing, done by most, but some don't give a damn. You'll get cooperation from now on though. I'll see the county commissioners appoint you as health officer."

As they entered Fort Pembina that afternoon Charles was impressed with the neatness and layout of the buildings. Charley took him directly to the hospital and introduced him to Dr. Appel.

"Doc, this is my cousin Charles Harris. He graduated from the School of Physicians and Surgeons in Baltimore a few years ago. He has been practicing in Charleston the past few years. I talked him into coming out here, told him it was the land of the future."

Appel smiled as he offered his hand. "Charley told me you were coming soon. You'll be mighty welcome! I just can't handle all the sickness and trouble alone. I informed Captain Collins that you were coming and he suggested you stay at the fort temporarily. I understand housing is mighty short in both towns, except at the hotels, and they are expensive. Unfortunately the Captain is in Grand Forks today. Would you like to see our clinic and wardrooms? At the moment we have a few frozen fingers and toes, also two cases of pneumonia.”

After a brief tour of the hospital, and after being introduced to Corporal Ira Hocking, Dr. Appel's assistant, the doctor suggested, "You'll find the training beneficial if you decide to stay, since we have a plethora of diseases, sometimes even frozen limbs. Also we have full use of the fort teamsters for transportation as needed. I can fix you up with a private room too."

Charles looked to Charley, then back to Appel. "Thank you! I'll accept your kindness and assist you all I can, but I intend to put my ad in the local paper if you don't mind. I think I'll like this Dakota Territory, it's big, and not crowded. Charley tells me there is no malaria! What do you think Charley?"

"I suggest you stay in town with me tonight, I'll help move you out tomorrow."

Doctor Charles Harris was cordially welcomed to the fort the next evening at the officer’s mess. Surgeon Appel introduced him to Captain Collins and the other officers at supper.

Frequently Charles was called on cases in town and to farms. Thankfully the fort teamsters were available. He made a habit of stopping and buying a drink for his driver when his task was completed. He seldom lacked for a volunteer. His cousin Charley took him in hand to introduce him to the most influential people in both St. Vincent and Pembina. Soon he found himself almost swamped with work, as was Doctor Appel. A new officer came to the fort to replace another transferred to the officer school in Leavenworth, Kansas. Charles found an instant rapport with this studious man, Lieutenant Andrew Rowan.² Rowan, at 22 years of age was only two years younger than Charles. They smoked numerous pipes of tobacco after the evening meal, while discussing ancient history. At times other officers joined the discussions, especially Captain Collins. His special interest was of Indian artifacts.
______________

¹ - My grandfather, Sheldon Albert Fitzpatrick, would eventually become the drayman for the town several years later...

² - Andrew S. Rowan: Famous for carrying the message to Garcia, in Cuba, during the insurrection (Spanish-American War) in l898. "Message to Garcia" fame, by Elbert Hubbard.

Profile: H.L. Hime, Expedition Photographer

Encampment on the Red River - Hind Expedition, 1857

Born in Ireland, H. L. Hime came to Canada in 1854 and joined the Hind Expedition as official photographer. His photographs are probably the first ever taken of the Canadian prairies.

As so often happens, due to the geographic proximity, he is connected to our area in that he passed through it, and made observations of the land and the people living here...

The Palliser and Hind Expeditions, 1857 -1860

By 1855, the last remaining piece of wild land in Canada West (formerly Upper Canada) was sold for settlement. This allowed politicians to look to the prairies as a possible region to open up for immigrants. Starting in 1857, two explorers named John Palliser and Henry Youle Hind would set out on a "scientific expedition" to discover if this land was suitable for mass settlement.

However, Palliser's expedition had another purpose. It was to survey the 49th parallel as a possible western border between the U.S. and Canada. This was crucial as America created massive east-west Intercolonial railways during the 1860s, a move that some in British North America viewed as an attempt by the Americans to expand their territory into what was to become Canada.

- From Intercolonial Railway, The Canadian Encyclopedia

On Wednesday we reached Fort Pembina, and stayed the night with Mr. Mackenzie, the officer in charge of the Post, whose sad fate last December (described further on) is a melancholy proof of the danger attending traveling alone during the winters of this climate. The woods and prairies are then perfect deserts, Indians being at their winter quarters, birds far in the sunny south, and wild animals hibernating, or seeking food and shelter in the thickest parts of the swamps and forests. So complete is this desolation in the interior of many parts of Rupert's Land during the winter, that Mr. Christie, chief factor of the Hudson's Bay Company, when traveling from Athabasca to Red River in December 1859, did not meet with a single Indian throughout a long and dreary journey of 1400 miles. (of that I can believe!!)

The thermometer at Pembina Fort indicated 22 below zero on the morning of December 2nd, when we left the Post. Having procured another train of two dogs at the small village of Pembina, two miles from the Hudson's Bay Post of that name, we struck across the prairie to the "first of the Two Creeks," where we camped...

Pine River crossing is the spot from which Mr. Mackenzie, who had so hospitably treated us at Fort Pembina, started on the morning of the 29th December 1859, on his ill-fated journey in search of assistance. He and some companions were escorting an engineer from Georgetown to Fort Garry, who was traveling thither to make alterations and repairs in the steamer Anson Northrup, then laid up for the winter near the Indian settlement. The party fell short of provisions, and Mr. Mackenzie pushed on in the hope of being able to send supplies from Pembina. After leaving his companions, he appears to have followed the trail for some distance, and at the approach of night to have lost his way. His beaten track showed that in order to keep himself from freezing, he had spent the night in running round in a circle. At the break of day he started again across the trackless waste, but in a direction considerably to the eastward of his proper course. A second day of fruitless wandering was followed by a night more dreary than the first. The third day's journey brought him near the Roseau Lake, far to the east of his destination; here his strength appears to have failed him, for having hung some shreds of his coat on a tree, to mark his last resting-place, he lay down beneath it, where his frozen body was found, with one hand on his heart and the other grasping a compass.*

* An account of this melancholy journey is given in the Red River Nor'Wester, [Issue January 14, 1860] 

From Narrative of the Canadian Red River Exploring Expedition of 1857 by Henry Youle Hind

Following

If you're reading this blog right now, and find that you like what you read, I urge you to 'follow' it. It's the simplest, easiest way to keep up with my posts without having to think about it. Want to know more?

All you have to do it glance to your right, and look at my right-hand sidebar here, for the 'Follow' button (like the example in this post), click on it, and follow the easy instructions. That's all there is to it! Never miss another fascinating post to St. Vincent Memories...

I also want to mention that there are literally YEARS of posts in the archives, so if you're new, be sure and check them out for a wealth of fascinating photos, first-hand accounts, and trivia from my hometown area...

Recognition

I was given a Kreativ Blogger Award by Moultrie Creek today, in recognition of writing "...the most fascinating stories about her home..." From what I gather, it is the tradition of each recipient to then in turn pass on the award to other worthy blogs. Here goes my list of nominees...

- I adore Confessions of a Pioneer Woman; Bree is one busy woman raising a family and taking care of her handsome Marlboro Man, and somehow still having a great sense of humor - how does that woman do it?!

- Lee Jackson is a man on a mission. His blog, The Cat's Meat Shop, is an appendix to his Dictionary of Victorian London, a work-in-progress masterpiece...

- I grew up being taught by a mother of the Great Depression, to reuse, repurpose, and make-do. Thus, Glad Rags blog is a delight, reading about how women (including myself) are taking charge of their bodies in more natural and healthy ways!

- Take a glimpse into Victorian times via the Victorian Peeper...

- The Rat's Inn is written in Dutch, but it's about something universal...love (in this case between human and ratties, but so what?!)

- I get my country fix (since I don't live in the country anymore ... sigh) from visiting Farm Girl Fare. I can't get enough cute photos of donkeys, cats, dogs, and sheep. It makes me happy to know such life is lived by someone, somewhere, even if I can't at the moment.

I was also featured on Geneabloggers' New Geneablogs this week (thanks to Mike Rustad for spotting that!)