History Written by the Victors

If history is written by the victors, it was the case at one battleground site in North Dakota. For all the years I’ve lived in North Dakota, I’d never visited the Whitestone Hill State Historic Site near Kulm. We went yesterday (09-14-20) for the expressed purpose of seeing it. It couldn’t have been a more perfect day as far as weather - 60s, sunny, breezy, no bugs. Right beside the site is a nice blue water lake and we sat eating our picnic lunch under cottonwood trees where we liked listening to the rustling of the leaves in the breeze.

     And sometimes it’s good to be where there are no other people, which was the case here. Except for a friendly, young site supervisor named Stewart, no one else was there. We asked him if there are many visitors, to which he replied, “Some days there might be three cars.”

     At the top of the hill a tall monument stands and around it there are 20 stones, each listing the name of one of the troopers killed. This is where history being written by the victors comes into play. Very little indicates the death of hundreds of Indians or 150 taken prisoner or the tons of  winter supplies destroyed. I asked Stewart about the near-absence of Indian commemoration, and he said there was a small one. I didn’t go back up there to see if he meant the one made with a couple rocks, but there is a small bronze plaque at the base of the hill. Bronze weathers and the inscription on this one could hardly be read. He said there are plans for some updating of the site, which of course it needs to bring it more into line with modern proclivity.

     Stewart told of a group of Indians who’d come on horseback in a ceremonial gesture of forgiving, and he thought they planned to return in the future. I presume it was them who’d tied the medicine bundles to the flagpole. The site will be open yet through October and a trip to it could prove satisfying for the historically curious, as it did for us.

     I confess to never traveling in that little region of the state so seeing everything was a bit of an education. The little town of Merricourt stood on County Highway 2 and was included as a ghost town in the interesting website, “Ghosts of North Dakota.” Whether or not anyone lives there couldn’t be determined with our brief stop, but at one time it did command a little business. 

     A brick-fronted building on which a weathered sign told us it was once a bank had cashed in, its roof collapsed. Across the highway two large grain elevators stood and at first glance still looked serviceable, but no, they weren’t. A large community hall looks quite good, but doesn’t seem to host gatherings any longer we decided by seeing the weeds grown around it.

     I looked online for a little of its history. About the only event was a robbery and a shooting one time. A wannabee prize fighter came to town and became friends with the local moon shiners. This gang decided to rob the store but were soon apprehended. When the sheriff was taking the boxer to the Ellendale jail a fight ensued inside the car, and the sheriff shot and killed the prisoner.

     We drove on passing through LaMoure on Highway 13 where some community beautifiers had worked hard at creating a wow factor lining the street with large planter pots filled with petunias. They were the biggest planters I’ve seen. Well, we kept rolling and wanted to drive through Sheldon before the day was done.

     The town fathers had set about demolishing the old bank building since it too had cashed in, a fact which further shrunk the length of main street. Now only two old brick buildings stand. They are both still in use, but more than likely will meet the fate of the bank someday. I inherited an old picture of Sheldon’s main street that shows many businesses lining both sides of the street. Now so little remains. The brick schoolhouse met demolition not long ago, so its familiar face no longer greets the old students passing by. It’s like the author of the Wizard of Oz said, “Everything has to come to an end, sometime.” 

Four Generals, Four Counties

     Four counties in North Dakota - Ransom, Logan, Grant, and Sheridan - bear the names of Civil War generals, names that no one gives much thought to as they go about their daily lives.  Each one of these leaders led their men into the heat of battle where one of them, wounded in four battles, died from his wound in the fourth battle. The others survived to rise in political ranks or fight in the Indian wars.

     Logan County carries the name of John A. Logan, the man considered the best of the Union Army’s political generals since he rose from the volunteer ranks instead of coming through West Point. He led with distinction in different battles, especially so at the Battle of Vicksburg. Grant awarded Logan the honor of leading the first Union troops into the captured city on July 4 at the end of the campaign. General Sherman noticed how Logan was disappointed when he was passed over for promotion and made it up by giving him the honor of leading the Grand Review in Washington after the war ended.

     Logan might best be remembered as the first commander of the veterans group Grand 

Army of the Republic and issued his directive in 1868 to establish an annual Memorial Day on May 30 to honor those who have died in service. The date was chosen because flowers for decorations were in full bloom in the North.

     A reminder of the Civil War’s General Phillip H. Sheridan can be found in the central North Dakota county named for him, Sheridan County. The fact that Sheridan maintained a close relationship with General U. S. Grant certainly helped to prop up his battle accomplishments. Known as an aggressive leader, he became the Union’s cavalry commander after Grant was named overall commander.

     He willingly employed a so-called “Scorched Earth” policy and ordered the destruction of crops, railroads, farm buildings, towns, anything that might provide sustenance and protection  for residents of the South, including the women and children. One pundit remarked that Sheridan’s army left nothing but chimneys standing without houses, leaving the Shenandoah Valley a barren waste. At the conclusion of the Civil War he received orders to head west and participate in the Indian Wars where he led a successful yet brutal conquest of the Indians. 

    Ransom County, named for General T.E.G. Ransom who received four wounds in four different battles died after lingering awhile from the last one. And those four battles were not the only ones he fought in since there were several more. Fort Ransom in the same county rose in its humble structures in 1867 and remained in operation for five years.

     What was it about the memory of General Ransom that caused General Grant to weep upon hearing of Ransom’s death and General Sherman to keep a picture of Ransom hanging on his wall?  In Sherman’s eyes he said of Ransom, “Looking death in the face, far from home, he was content to die, because he had done a man’s full work on earth, and because every motive and instinct of his nature had impelled him to the duties of a soldier and patriot.” 

     The name of Ulysses S. Grant identifies Grant County which is located on the west side of the Missouri River. Much can be said about the man because of both his army career and his later life as a U. S. president, but it is his army career that receives the attention here. Not everyone liked his abilities as a military leader and here is the answer one man received from Lincoln after entreating the president to fire him: “I can’t spare this man; he fights.”Another time Lincoln said of Grant, “Where he is, things move.”

     One historian drew up a list of seven attributes that made Grant a good leader. Among them were his being fearless, ability to see the whole picture, and the fact that he didn’t let up.

A biographer, Jean Edward Smith, commented about the team of Lincoln and Grant by writing, “One could not have succeeded without the other. And while Lincoln set the course, it was Grant who sailed the ship.” While still wearing the uniform, he attained the distinction of being the first four-star general in the history of the United States.

     Skipping past other events, consider Grant at the end of his life. He smoked twenty cigars a day which led to throat cancer. He found himself broke at this time and fretted over the fact that he had no wealth to leave his wife and family after he died. The one thing he possessed of value was his life story, something for which he was offered money. Luckily, the writer Mark Twain had taken a liking to Grant and saw where the general had agreed to a poorly paying contract for writing his autobiography. 

     Twain negotiated a lucrative new contract for him and even while Grant was in constant pain, he hurried to finish his book. Today the book is considered by many critics as being the best of any presidential autobiographies. He died shortly after writing, “The End.”

Whitestone Hill

 If history is written by the victors, it was the case at one battleground site in North Dakota. For all the years I’ve lived in North Dakota, I’d never visited the Whitestone Hill State Historic Site near Kulm. We went yesterday (09-14-20) for the expressed purpose of seeing it. It couldn’t have been a more perfect day as far as weather - 60s, sunny, breezy, no bugs. Right beside the site is a nice blue water lake and we sat eating our picnic lunch under cottonwood trees where we liked listening to the rustling of the leaves in the breeze.

     And sometimes it’s good to be where there are no other people, which was the case here. Except for a friendly, young site supervisor named Stewart, no one else was there. We asked him if there are many visitors, to which he replied, “Some days there might be three cars.”

     At the top of the hill a tall monument stands and around it there are 20 stones, each listing the name of one of the troopers killed. This is where history being written by the victors comes into play. Very little indicates the death of hundreds of Indians or 150 taken prisoner or the tons of  winter supplies destroyed. I

asked Stewart about the near-absence of Indian commemoration, and he said there was a small one. I didn’t go back up there to see if he meant the one made with a couple rocks, but there is a small bronze plaque at the base of the hill. Bronze weathers and the inscription on this one could hardly be read. He said there are plans for some updating of the site, which of course it needs to bring it more into line with modern proclivity.

    

Stewart told of a group of Indians who’d come on horseback in a ceremonial gesture of forgiving, and he thought they planned to return in the future. I presume it was them who’d tied the medicine bundles to the flagpole.

    

The site will be open yet through October and a trip to it could prove satisfying for the historically curious, as it did for us.

Another Chapter in the Dakota Territory

    After the blustering and ranting that marked its formation, the business of running a territorial government from Yankton brought some sense of normalcy. No longer did the attorney general need to empty the slop bucket in the cabin he shared with the governor, no record exists of a speaker of the house being thrown out a saloon window for a second time, and it’s not recorded where another fistfight featuring “hair-pulling, choking, striking, blood spitting and pugilistic exercises” occurs between the governor and the director of the land office. For me, while imagining myself as an amateur historian, I especially like this period in our state’s birth and development.

     That first tumultuous session did manage to pass some bills confirming the territory’s legitimacy. They established eighteen counties, a militia to protect settlers, the illegality of prostitution, a ban on stallions roaming about the range, a university at Vermillion, plus a few other items.

     For those who like General Custer stories, here is one connected to Yankton during this period. Various accounts tell us that the 7th Cavalry regiment became blizzard-stalled in Yankton during the winter of 1873. On their way to Fort Lincoln, they were being stationed there to deal with the  Indian threat in the West. As many as 900 men with as many or more horses and mules had arrived at the end of the tracks in several trains and set up a tent city outside of town. The men pitched tents and Custer and his wife stayed in a partially finished cabin. Unexpectedly an April blizzard developed to make life miserable since the tents started blowing down and Custer’s cabin didn’t keep the weather out.

     Men got sick, including Custer who came down with a high fever. His wife Libbie Custer wrote this account in Boots and Saddles: “Knowing the scarcity of fuel and the danger to the horses from exposure to the rigor of such weather after their removal from a warm climate, the general ordered the breaking of camp. All the soldiers were directed to take their horses and go into Yankton, and ask the citizens to give them shelter in their homes, cow-sheds, and stables. In a short time the camp was nearly deserted, only the laundresses, two or three officers, and a few dismounted soldiers remaining. The towns-people, true to the unvarying western hospitality, gave everything they could to the use of the regiment; the officers found places in the hotels.”

     Some of the men already suffered from frozen feet and did not make it into town, but instead stopped at Custer’s cabin for shelter about which Libby wrote, “It was almost unbearable to hear the groans of the soldiers over their swollen and painful feet, and know that we could do nothing to ease them.” She went on to say, “We did not soon forget our introduction to Dakota.” 

     Her book left me with one image I’d like to have seen first-hand. After leaving Yankton and marching along, she said, “When the stream was narrow, the hundreds of horses had to be ranged along its banks to be watered.” Nine hundred animals wanting water would have been quite a sight and not a place for me to drink downstream.

     Remembering the territory’s official formation in 1862 affairs moved along for a number of years until the political winds blew in a change. Loud voices tired of the outside control U. S. presidents exercised in appointing their governors and other officials for them. One of those voices said, “We feel very much as the thirteen colonies felt when they flung away their dependent condition.”

     The seventh territorial governor was Nehemiah G. Ordway who took office in 1880; his term in office proved to be a turning point. Ordway initiated the process to move the state capital in 1883 by appointing a nine-man commission to study the matter. Of course, to make things easier, he loaded the commission with three members associated with the Northern Pacific Railroad. One of them was a familiar figure, Alexander McKenzie. The railroad had their sights set on building west and had reached Bismarck in 1873, the place they wanted for the capital. 

     The capital was indeed moved in 1883. Try as they did, Yankton leaders could not stop it from happening. As part of the process that Ordway wanted for moving the capital, he stated a meeting must be held in Yankton, and Yankton planned to fight hard for it to stay. McKenzie showed his cunning ability to sidestep the matter. 

     On the day of the meeting, Yankton people crowded the site of the meeting and waited for the train to pull into the station with the commissioners on board. While still rolling, a meeting convened in the city limits, a vote was taken in favor of Bismarck, and the train never stopped. That was a bit too far for people in the southern part of the territory because they began to call for statehood for South Dakota. In 1889, after six years, North Dakota and South Dakota became separate entities.