CHAPTER VIII
ELEMENTS AT WORK
Elements, as we have seen,
were at work, which, if kindly fostered, would result
in great and lasting blessings. The germs of settlements,
in two or three instances, had been planted, and hope
whispered a prosperous issue.
Upon a commanding bluff
of the Mississippi, scattered here and there, were
some half dozen decayed and decaying log hovels, chinked
with mud, and every way of the meanest appearance,
evincing the lack of taste and ambition in the occupants.
They were low French and half breeds, and repudiated
the forms and conventionalities of the world, of which
they knew comparatively nothing.
The appellation of "Pig's
Eye" had been given to the settlement, in honor
to an important citizen with one eye, which bore a
fancied resemblance to the eye of that interesting
quadruped. The nucleus of this village was a ten by
twelve log chapel, the site of which was marked by
the Romish priest. More recently a christening
service dignified the settlement with the name of
St. Paul, and more recently still, "Pig's Eye"
has floated two miles down stream, though this point
is fast losing its identity among the "additions"
to St. Paul.
During my first journeyings
westward I was frequently advised to retrace my steps,
as "dangers, and perhaps cruel death" awaited
my debut among the "bloody Indians." One
individual in particular, volunteered this
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advice, who was then en route
East, from a visit to the falls of St. Anthony, Fort
Snelling, &c. and knew positively there was
not such a place as St. Paul in that vicinity.
"But there was," he said, "a miserable
little trading post called 'Pig's Eye,' a few miles
below, but no white woman could live there,
though of course that was not the point of which I
was in pursuit."
The old chapel, after
undergoing sundry enlargements and improvements, to
meet the wants of the increasing congregation, was
left in charge of the "Sisters of Charity,"
for school purposes, and a large brick church substituted
for worship. The log chapel is now demolished, and
an elegant cathedral is found essential to advance
the cause of the Papacy.
But to return. No improvements
had been made, when, in 1841, Henry Jackson,
with his young wife, landed beneath the towering bluff,
from one of the half dozen steamers, which that season
found their way here. It was midnight, dark and rainy.
Not a light was to be seen, and the bluff loomed in
the darkness its formidable and forbidding front.
The lady had been assured that it was a "right
smart chance of a place," and on inquiry, was
told it was "further back," and that there
was a "power of mud" before she could reach
it. They finally attained the summit of the almost
perpendicular ascent, and entered the ravine, (which
now no stranger and few citizens could find) following
a guide through an Indian trail, winding amid dense
hazel bushes, over what was then known as "Mount
Pidsgah," but now as "Baptist HIll,"
just leaving "Hazel Mount"* on the left,
to the only dwelling in that immediate vicinity, a
full half mile from the landing.
*The seat of the Pioneer's
School, and the writer's abode.
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The cabin roof was of
straw, over which was a layer of turf; this was so
saturated by the rain, that the inmates had been driven
from their beds. The genuine hospitality of their
hearts enabled them to devise speedy means for the
comfort of their guests, as they proffered them their
own deserted bed. A quilt, for the absorption of the
water, was suspended beneath the dripping roof, and
the wearied strangers retired to dream of shower baths
in other lands.
The bright rain drops
glittering amid the bushes the following morning,
were as so many greetings of welcome, and the clouds,
too, had passed from their hearts.
The first work of the
emigrants was to build them a cabin, and their site
was selected on the commanding point, directly above
and overlooking the river at Lower Landing, in other
words, at the terminus of Bench street. The original
room was twelve by fifteen feet, and minus doors,
windows, or floor, they "set up housekeeping."
A large slab answered for a rug before the bed, and
never a wolf dared thrust his head within the blanket
which served as a door, though the lady herself often
drove them from the premises. Thus, for eighteen months,
did things move on, with naught to chronicle, save
some slight improvements in the cabin by way of floor,
windows, and door, the "latch string" of
which was never pulled in.
There was little expectation
then that the isolated trading post would soon expand
into the busy, bustling city, with all the elements
of the great eastern metropolis, and a daily line
of well laden steamers be crowding the levee.
Like all things western,
the cabin was destined to grow, until it
boasted of three or four rooms, with plastered walls,
while a white "siding" concealed the rough
logs—
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an effectual deception as to its original
state. There was such an air of gentility and comfort
in that cozy sitting room, that the impressions of
my first visit are more easily retained than expressed.
The rustic porch and small windows were shaded by
a dense vine transplanted from the "bottom lands,"
softening the sun's rays as they fell upon the carpet,
and subduing any repulsive feeling which might arise.
In the yard a tame fox
and deer had their gambols; and prairie flowers, the
sweetest on earth, imparting their odors, enhanced
the beauty of the scene.
In the autumn of 1842,
John R. Irvine "claimed"
the beautiful plateau now embraced in "Ripper
Town." With his family, frontier life was a parallel
to the above history, with the addition of more numerous
domestic cares and parental anxieties.
There was a warm sympathy
between these families, the exclusive society of the
settlement. The children found sources of pleasure
at home, in chasing the gay-winged butterfly, and
plucking the wild flowers, as they bounded over the
prairie and up the bluffs, and their spirits caught
the notes of the grove songsters, until they were
tuned to the same sweet harmony.
Life had many cares and
pleasures, but withal was wedding the souls of the
pioneers to their adopted homes. And though I could
not then understand the emotions that induced Mrs.
Irvine to affirm, that she would sooner go
as much farther west, than return to her home in Buffalo,
experience has taught me that I can heartily respond
to the sentiment.
In 1845, Mr. A.
L. Larpenteur married, established himself
in business here, and has become one of our most substantial
and influential merchants.
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Louis Robear,
a French trader, was the chieftain of his countrymen,
who then composed the greater part of the sparse population
of this place.
Such was the limited society
to which the writer was introduced in St. Paul, and
yet, isolated as it really was, from the living, acting
world, not a cloud of sadness or regret ever flitted
across her mental horizon. Life was no longer an idle
dream; the hours dragging heavily, and with soul-longings
for some real purpose. Here was a field to be cultivated;
a garden of untrained flowers to be tended, and the
heart raised a thank-offering to heaven and cheerfully
entered upon its work. But we anticipate.
Nucleus of St. Pauls
(click on image for larger size)
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Chapter IX
