We
Started On Soon Afterwards, With A New Driver And The Third Set Of
Horses; But With The Disagreeable Consciousness That We Had Still
Before Us The Largest Part Of The Day's Journey.
In about three hours
we came to Big Lake, or, as it is sometimes called, Humboldt.
The lake
is anything but a big lake, being the size of a common New England
pond. But then all such sheets of water are called lakes in this part
of the country. It is a clear body of water, abounding with fine fish,
and has a beautiful shore of pebbles. Several similar sheets of water
are passed on the journey, the shores of which present a naked
appearance. There is neither the trace of a stream leading from or to
them, nor, with few exceptions, even a swamp in their vicinity.
Sauk Rapids is 44 miles from Itasca, and it was late when we reached
there. But, late as it was, we found a large collection of people at
the post office waiting for the mail. They appeared to have had a
caucus, and were discussing politics with much animation. There is at
Sauk Rapids a local land office. That is of more advantage to a place
than being the county seat. In a short time, however, some of the land
offices will be removed further west for the convenience of settlers.
The village is finely situated on rising ground, and contains some
handsome residences.
It was midnight when we arrived at Watab, where we were to lodge. The
weather had been delightful during the day, but after nightfall a high
wind rose and filled the air with dust. I descended from the stage
for I had rode upon the outside with self-satisfied emotions of
having come eighty-two miles since morning. The stage-house was
crowded. It is a two-story building, the rooms of which are small. I
went to bed, I was about to say, without any supper. But that was not
so. I didn't get any supper, it is true, neither did I get a bed; for
they were all occupied. The spare room on the floor was also taken.
The proprietor, however, was accommodating, and gave me a sort of a
lounge in rather a small room where three or four other men, and a
dog, were sleeping on the floor. I fixed the door ajar for
ventilation, and with my overcoat snugly buttoned around me, though it
was not cold, addressed myself to sleep. In the morning I found that
one of the occupants was an ex-alderman from the fifth ward of New
York; and that in the room over me slept no less a personage than
Parker H. French. I say I ascertained these facts in the morning. Mr.
French came to Watab a few weeks ago with a company of mechanics, and
has been rushing the place ahead with great zeal. He appears to make a
good impression on the people of the town.
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