I Suppose, As
Considerable Pains Are Taken In Raising Stock, Poor Horses Are Not
Raised At All; And It Will Not Pay To Import Poor Ones.
A company of
surveyors whom we met excited a curiosity which I was not able to
solve.
It looked odd enough to see a dozen men walking by the side or
behind a small one-horse cart; the latter containing some sort of
baggage which was covered over, as it appeared, with camping fixtures.
It was more questionable whether the team belonged to the men than
that the men were connected with the team. The men were mostly young
and very intelligent-looking, dressed with woollen shirts as if for
out door service, and I almost guessed they were surveyors; yet still
thought they were a party of newcomers who had concluded to club
together to make their preemption claim. But surveyors they were.
The town of Humboldt is the county seat for Sherburne county. It lies
between the Mississippi and Snake rivers. The part of the town which I
saw was a very small part. Mr. Brown's residence, which is
delightfully situated on the shore of a lake, is at once the court
house and the post office, besides being the general emporium and
magnate of Humboldt business and society. Furthermore, it is the place
where the stage changes horses and where passengers on the down trip
stop to dine. It was here we stopped to dine; and as the place had
been a good deal applauded for its table-d'hote, a standard element of
which was said to be baked fish, right out of the big lake, I at least
had formed very luxurious expectations. Mr. Brown was away. We had met
his lively countenance on his way up to a democratic caucus. Perhaps
that accounted for our not having baked fish, for fish we certainly
did not have. The dinner was substantial, however, and yielded to
appetites which had been sharpened by a half day's inhalation of
serene October air. We had all become infused with a spirit of
despatch; and were all ready to start, and did start, in half an hour
from the time we arrived at the house.
We had not proceeded far after dinner before meeting the Monticello
stage, which runs between the thriving village of that name on the
west bank of the Mississippi and St. Paul. It carries a daily mail.
There were several passengers aboard.
One little incident in our afternoon travel I will mention, as it
appeared to afford more pleasure to the rest of the passengers than it
did to me. Where the stage was to stop for fifteen or twenty minutes,
either to change mail or horses, I had invariably walked on a mile, if
I could get as far, for the sake of variety and exercise. So when we
came to the pretty village of Anoka (at the mouth of Rum River), where
the mail was to be changed, I started on foot and alone. But
unfortunately and unconsciously I took the wrong road. I had walked a
mile I think for twenty minutes at least had expired since I
started and being in the outskirts of the town, in the midst of
farms and gardens, turned up to a garden-fence, on the other side of
which a gentleman of professional I rather thought clerical
appearance was feeding a cow on pumpkins. I had not seen pumpkins so
abundant since my earliest youth, when I used to do a similar thing. I
rather thought too that the gentleman whom I accosted was a Yankee,
and after talking a few minutes with him, so much did he exceed me in
asking questions, that I felt sure he was one. How thankful I ought to
be that he was one! for otherwise it is probable he would not have
ascertained where, and for what purpose, I was walking. He informed me
I was on the wrong road; that the stage took a road further west,
which was out of sight; and that I had better go on a little further
and then cross the open prairie. Then for the first time did I notice
that the road I had taken was but a street, not half so much worn as
the main road. I followed his friendly advice, and feeling some
despair I hastened on at a swift run, and as I advanced towards where
I thought the right road ought to be, though I could neither see it
nor the stage, "called so loud that all the hollow deep of" the
prairies might have resounded. At last, when quite out of breath and
hoarse with loud vociferation, I descried the stage rolling on at a
rapid rate. Then I renewed my calls, and brought it up standing. After
clambering over a few fences, sweating and florid, I got to the stage
and resumed my seat, amidst the pleasant merriment of the passengers.
The driver was kind enough to say that he began to suspect I had taken
the wrong road, and was about to turn round and come after me that
he certainly would not have left me behind, &c. I was happy,
nevertheless, that my mistake did not retard the stage. But I do not
intend to abandon the practice of walking on before the stage whenever
it stops to change horses.
Just in the edge of twilight, and when we were a little way this side
of Coon Creek, where we had changed horses again, we came in sight of
a large fire. It was too much in one spot to be a prairie fire; and as
we drove on the sad apprehension that it was a stack of hay was
confirmed. The flames rose up in wide sheets, and cast a steady glare
upon the landscape. It was a gorgeous yet a dismal sight. It always
seems worse to see grain destroyed by fire than ordinary merchandise.
Several stacks were burning.
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