Nancy McClure: A New Fort

Chapter 4

I followed my husband to this new place and marveled at its vastness, a place I realized pleased all my senses.  Not only did I feel as if could I see into the boundless distance, when I heard a meadowlark singing in the morning, its melody played in my mind all day.  The yip and howl of a far-off coyote, the brush of warm breezes on my face, the aroma of sage, the taste of nearby spring water, all making this a land where I imagined nature had gathered in one place.

Immigrant wagon trains moving westward in ever larger numbers and construction gangs building the Northern Pacific Railroad made easy targets for warlike Indians.  General Alfred H. Terry, commander of the war department in Washington, learned of the potential for trouble and made the decision to construct some forts placing soldiers closer to the danger.  He had ordered a battalion of soldiers from Fort Wadsworth under the command of Major George Crossman to travel to the place identified as Bears Den Hill and construct a fort.  

We learned it would be named Fort Ransom to honor a young Civil War general who had served the Union in a distinctive manner.   Wounded in four different battles, he finally died from the last one he received.  General Grant’s reputation was such that he did not easily show emotion, but we were told he wept upon hearing of Ransom’s death.  As for General Sherman, he honored him by hanging a picture of Ransom on his office wall years after his death.

The battalion arrived  on June 17, 1867 and began the big job of constructing the fort.  The site was bare of anything except prairie grass and soon a collection of buildings and a defensive perimeter moat needed to be dug.  All day long we heard axes chopping and sawing the solid oak trees gathered along the Sheyenne River.   The builders did not erect a stockade like the one at Fort Abercrombie, but instead earthworks dug into the virgin soil would serve as the perimeter defense.  

Structures started to rise while other men with picks and shovels worked on the long ditch moat. The sun was climbing high in the sky these days of early summer, and the hot, sweaty work made them always thirsty.  A good spring of drinking water was found at the bottom of a hill, but it needed to be hauled up in barrels by mule team many times a day for about 600 yards so the men could quench their ever-present thirst. 

I haven’t mentioned mosquitoes yet.  One day as he stood there swatting them, I heard Captain Crossman say, “In all my experience in Texas, Louisiana and other places, I never saw anything to compare to the mosquitoes in Dakota; they actually made life a burden.”  I don’t think he had experienced a northern winter yet either.

Lest you think the buildings were built with comfort in mind, let me explain what they were like.  The buildings were arranged in a square layout with little windows facing to the outside from which soldiers could shoot their rifles if they ever came under attack.  Dirt covered the roof of each building and the chinking between the logs let daylight creep through.  Having left the fort and moved to the Pigeon Point area I can only repeat the following from hearing it later.  In 1869, two years after its construction, an inspection of the fort stated conditions there

 were very primitive with most of the buildings still unfinished, a situation blamed on the fact of civilian carpenters being sent home too early.  The hospital met with disapproval in the report, “It is totally unfit for the accommodation of the sick in the colder season, at which time the thermometer frequently indicates the freezing point…”

While the fort waited for a herd of cattle to arrive for slaughter, we ate buffalo meat.  Herds of them still could be found and Gabriel Renville, who had the reputation of being a good hunter, one day took out his new repeating rifle to test his luck.  He did, with only eight shots he killed six.  For a little variety we shot an occasional duck in the nearby slough, or found a few elk roaming in the countryside.

While we were at the fort for only a brief spell, I witnessed some life-threatening incidents, and in fact there was loss of life.  I will collect my thoughts and tell a couple of those stories in the next chapter.

Nancy McClure: Fort Ransom

Chapter 3

As you’ve noticed I’m telling this story through the mind and hand of a person who hovers near the edge of old age but seems rational enough to work with.  When errors in fact or judgment find their way into his writing, we work together to correct them.   I know he has this philosophy about storytelling that when you don’t remember facts, you let your imagination run wild, but so far I’ve mostly kept his fancies in check.  Now I’m ready to continue reminiscing.

To this point I’ve related a bit of how I’d spent my life in the forests of Minnesota where I never thought much about distant horizons.  Contentment prevailed in that secure world where I could mingle with the plants and animals that lived in its shelter.  I was comfortable there, that is until the uprising occurred, and then I became suspicious of anything that moved in the shadows and I started to feel confined.  When my husband David Faribault received an offer to work as a scout on the Dakota prairie, I was ready to follow.

You may ask what is this scout business?  As the West began to attract an ever growing stream of outsiders, the same thing began to happen as it did in Minnesota.  Indians thought these people were trespassing on their land and realized the term “Dakota Territory” meant nothing except the name written on a map. In such an unsettled time before western forts were built to house troops who could range out to prevent sneak attacks on Minnesota settlements, a scout brigade was made up of Indians and mixed-bloods to serve as a warning system.  

It also served as a sort of goodwill payback for those Indians who did not participate in the uprising.  About 250 were hired, and luckily, families of scouts were permitted to accompany the men.  Gabriel Renville received the appointment from General Sibley to serve as the first scout leader in Dakota Territory.  While Fort Wadsworth became our headquarters, he chose Lake Tewaukon for the first scout camp.  

We experienced a few years of moving around to different scout camps, and I became acquainted with such places as Bear’s Den, Bone Hill, and Surrender.  I remember those remarkable views after climbing some of those hills like Standing Rock and Dead Colt Hillock and thinking how I could see forever up there.  Forest people never experienced such emotions in their lives.  

The first time I entered the vastness of the area, one sight stood out.  A recent prairie fire had blackened a large area and heavy rain the night before I arrived had washed clean a scene I could never imagine.  Glistening in the sunlight,  bleached white bones from thousands of  skeletons were lying about in such thick order that my horse couldn’t walk a straight line as we passed through their field of death.  

For the most part these were the remains of buffalo, and their bones seemed thicker near wallows hollowed in the earth.  Some were fairly recent since the barrel of their chests remained rounded, while others had been picked clean and scattered about the area.  Injured and aged animals had found their way to the water here for rest and water, never to rise again and travel on with the herds as they grazed on.  

Burnt prairie ceased being remarkable because I soon discovered that it was the way of the plains.  When lightning danced and played in the sky it sometimes stabbed the dry grass and became a roaring inferno.  It didn’t take long to realize why trees didn’t grow in forests like those in Minnesota did.  Whenever the tip of a little oak tree poked through the dirt, its tender shoot was ground down by countless split-hooves passing over it or burned to nothing in the heat and flames of a passing prairie fire.

In June of 1867 our lives changed again when my husband found employment as a scout under Major George Crossman who was charged with constructing Fort Ransom.  He marched a battalion of the 10th U.S. Infantry from Fort Wadsworth to the chosen site and began building with the stout oak logs cut from the river valley.  There were quite a number of buildings and we’ll talk about them next time.

Nancy McClure: Clash of Cultures

Chapter Two

In Minnesota the Indian and the white communities mixed like oil and water as more whites arrived.  Missionaries came with the idea of educating everyone in the ways of a dominant culture.  I enjoyed my years in school and learned to love reading and writing, especially.  While at this school I had my first “Indian scare.”  Our classes were held at the teacher’s small farm where he kept a few head of cows and their calves.  We took care of the calves, grew attached to them and even named them.

But then I experienced the ugliness of growing hatred.  One day an Indian staggering about in a drunken condition came to the corral, jumped in with his knife drawn, and killed every one of those little calves.  We were terrified and sickened from the sight and screamed so loudly that my stepfather who was nearby heard and came on the run to drive the butcher away.  As much as we cried over the sight of the savagery, I was destined to witness far more horrific scenes.    

As the influx of white settlers grew, they kept wanting to push farther westward, thereby encroaching on the lands of the Wahpeton and Sisseton Dakota tribes.  Alexander Ramsey and Henry Sibley persuaded the U. S. government to negotiate a purchase agreement from the Indians which they did in 1851.  The Indians had to cave in to the proposals because their hunting grounds had become depleted, and a guaranteed annuity would buy the goods to clothe and feed them.  So in July of that year, at a gathering of representatives from both sides, an agreement was reached whereby the tribes were to give up land and move to reservations.

After the signing, a huge celebration was held that made me wonder where all the champagne came from.  Since it was also the occasion of my wedding to David Faribault, there was double the reason for celebrating.  They said I looked so pretty in my white bridal dress.  

Since David was a trader and moved around a lot for his business, I followed him and saw new country.  Once we traveled to St. Louis on a steamboat on which I had a grand time and made friends.  Upon returning, we settled in Shakopee for a time and then moved to Faribault.  At the time of the uprising in August, 1862, we were residing at the Redwood Agency.  David became known for his fair dealings and made many friends with the Indians.  For instance, he continued extending credit when other traders wouldn’t.  But white settlers came to him, too, and we enjoyed many social gatherings with them.

The times took a serious turn.  In the summer of 1862, the Indians came to the agency to collect their annuities, but the money hadn’t arrived yet.  The story given was that the shipment of gold had been delayed at Fort Ridgely.  That was the match that ignited the explosion.  It met with disbelief and anger, and soon we heard the first gunshots.  A man came galloping through the settlement and shouting, “The Indians are killing all the white people at the agency!  Run away, run away quick!”  My husband decided to saddle our horses and escape, but then we saw a wagon hitched to oxen that was loaded with settlers heading toward us.  The driver was whipping the beasts, but oxen only go so fast. “Will you hitch your horses to our wagon?” they pleaded.  When they were ready to start rolling again, we saw Indians coming.  David, our baby Mary, and I ran into the woods while the wagon sped off.

They found us, remembered David for his fair-dealing, and promised no harm if we’d surrender to them.  Of course we agreed.  Then we saw two more wagons pulled  by oxen loaded with white people coming down the road.  The Indians took after them and even though I pleaded loudly to show them mercy, we soon heard cries of anguish as they were being killed.  I could tell many more horrifying tales, but it is too painful for me to recall.  Nightmares visit me every night and don’t let me forget what I saw.

I could tell more about this period but don’t want to bore you.  Very few of my fellow half-breed Indians took part in the uprising I’m proud to say.  The whole affair ended when General Sibley took over and many of the rebels were sentenced to hang.  Thirty-eight of them did. Remember those horses we loaned to pull the wagon? They made it to Fort Ridgely where one of them dropped dead upon arrival.  The other was claimed by an Indian, but I stood my ground saying he was mine, and I intended to take him.  I think he read determination in my eyes because he relented.

One more chapter needs to be written before I can travel to Fort Ransom.