Old Rail Fence Corners | Page 2

also says there were
1500 of these carts there in 1808.]

The Book Committee
A sub-committee of the Old Trails and Historic Spots Committee,
Daughters of the American Revolution, Appointed by the Chairman.
Mrs. James T. Morris Mrs. William J. Morehart Mrs. E. C. Chatfield
Mrs. S. R. Van Sant Miss Beatrice Longfellow Miss Rita Kelly Mrs. F.
W. Little Mrs. O. H. Shepley Mrs. Alonzo Phillips Mrs. Guy Maxwell
Miss Marion Moir Mrs. E. A. Welch Miss Ida Wing Mrs. Mary E.
Partridge Mrs. Ell Torrance Miss Stella Cole Mrs. C. A. Bierman Mrs.
Chas. Keith Miss Emily Brown Mrs. G. C. Lyman Mrs. A. B. Kaercher
Mrs. W. S. Woodbridge Miss K. Maude Clum

The Reason
When I was a child my grandmother, Lucy Leavenworth Sherwood,
used to show us a little map drawn on the back of a cotillion invitation,
by her cousin Henry Leavenworth, the first officer at Fort Snelling. He
was there in 1819.
It was yellow with age, but showed Fort Snelling, Lake Harriette,
named for his wife, other lakes and two rivers. That yellow bundle of
letters read to us and the stories she told of this, her favorite cousin, as
he had told them to her never failed in breathless interest. Few of them
remain with me. The painted Indian in his canoe on the river, the Indian
runner, stand out vividly, but the valuable stories contained in those old
letters are gone. Nothing was ever a greater surprise than the loss of
those stories when I tried to recall them years later. The Bible with the
map and all those letters were burned when the home was destroyed by
fire.
These valuable data have disappeared. The knowledge that this was so,
made me listen with the greatest attention to stories told by the old
settlers and record them. All at once the realization came that they, too,
were fast disappearing, taking their stories with them. It was impossible
for me to get all these precious reminiscences before it was too late. It
must be done at once by a large number of interested women. These
were found in our committee who have gathered these data most
lovingly and financed this book. The proceeds are for patriotic work in
Minnesota as deemed best by the committee.
It is hoped that our first work will be the raising of a monument to the
Pioneer Women of our State. Those unsung heroines should not their
heroism be heralded while some still live?
We thank these dear friends who have made this little volume possible
by their warm interest. Every item in this book has been taken
personally from a pioneer.
Each one is a mesh in a priceless lace fabric, that fabric Minnesota
History.

If each mesh is not flawless, if age has weakened them, does not the
pattern remain?
LUCY LEAVENWORTH WILDER MORRIS.

OLD TRAILS CHAPTER
Minneapolis
LUCY LEAVENWORTH WILDER MORRIS
(Mrs. J. T. Morris)
Mr. Eli Pettijohn--1841.
Mr. Pettijohn, now ninety-five years old,[2] clear in memory,
patriarchial in looks, says:
[Footnote 2: All pioneers over ninety are so introduced as we feel that
no state can show so large a number who have the same mentality]
I came to what is now Minnesota, but was then a part of Wisconsin
Territory April sixteenth, 1841. I was on my way to work for the
Williamsons, missionaries, at Lac qui Parle. I landed from the large
steamer, the Alhambra, at the Fort Snelling landing. I climbed the steep
path that led up to the fort, circled the wall and came to the big gate. A
sentinel guarded it. He asked me if I wanted to enlist. I said, "No, I
want to see the fort, and find a boarding place." He invited me in. I
looked around this stone fort with much interest and could see Sibley
House and Faribault house across the Minnesota river at Mendota.
There were no large trees between the two points so these houses
showed very clearly. The ruins of part of the first fort which was of
wood, were still on the bluff about one block south of the new fort.
I asked where I could find a boarding place, and was directed to the St.
Louis house, near where the water tower now stands. Before
proceeding there, I stood and watched the Indians coming to the fort. I

was told they were from Black Dog's, Good Road's and Shakopee's
villages. The trail they followed was deeply worn. This seemed strange
as they all wore moccasins. Their painted faces looked very sinister to
one who had never before seen them, but later I learned to appreciate
the worth of these Indians, who as yet were unspoiled by the white
man's fire water.
I was told that the St. Louis