Why Does This Blog Exist?

You never know what you'll find here - anything with genealogical or historical value is fair game. This blog will be updated as I clean out my office, go through boxes and piles, or find pertinent items at antique shops. In the meantime, I hope you find something of interest here.

Sunday, October 23, 2011

St. Paul–Chapter XV–Beginnings of St. Paul

(From “St. Paul Location-Development-Opportunities” by F. C. Miller, Ph. D., Webb Book Publishing Co., St. Paul, Minnesota, 1928)

The first party of painted savages who raised a few huts upon the Thames did not dream of the London they were creating.
-James Martineau

In 1840 the civil inhabitants of Fort Snelling were ordered off the reservation. Among them was Pierre Parrant, a French Canadian, who went down stream and took a holding in what is now St. Paul. He was, accordingly, the first white settler of the city.

His first claim near Fountain Cave, not far from the Omaha shops, was mortgaged for ninety dollars. He was unable to meet the mortgage and lost the property. Another claim was taken near the foot of Robert Street. He sold it for ten dollars.   It is now worth millions.

Though Parrant had a reputation for boldness and courage, he was, according to all accounts, by no means a man of fine appearance.   The early pioneers, just like school boys, were never backward in giving their companions nicknames which frequently were accurate estimates of character.  Very often some physical defect was cleverly used to inflict on a person a name that stuck to him till death. So it came to pass that Parrant, who had a defective eye, was called Pig's Eye.   Though that name was descriptive of the first settler, it was not an appropriate name for the infant settlement, bordered by the stately Mississippi and the gloriously wooded slopes and crowns of crags, battlements, and bluffs of the St. Paul Gorge.   Despite this contradiction of name and fact, the present capital city of the State of Minnesota started its career with the crude frontier name Pig's Eye.

For two or three years St. Paul suffered from this infliction, though the little settlement showed vigorous signs of life. In 1841, Father Gaultier succeeded in building a small log-house chapel near Bench Street, in the vicinity of Third Street and Jackson Street and dedicated it to St. Paul, the apostle of nations. The worthy priest, resenting the coarse name of Pig's Eye for the village in which his church was located, proposed as a substitute the name of St. Paul. His suggestion was welcomed and the infant city received the name of St. Paul, though the name of Pig's Eye continued to be used by some of the rougher frontiersmen for some time. Before the name of St. Paul became permanent, the place was also frequently called St. Paul's Landing. The original Indian name was Innijiska, sometimes spelled Imnijaska, meaning White Rock.

Benjamin and Pierre Gervais were the next settlers to arrive, July, 1838. It was Benjamin who bought Parrant's second claim for ten dollars. He afterwards sold or donated this land and took up a claim on the lake that now bears his name.

Edward Phelan, Joseph Hays, and William Evans arrived soon afterwards. In 1839 many persons arrived and settled in what is now St. Paul.

When A. L. Larpenteur arrived at the levee in St. Paul in 1843 with a stock of groceries, he, or rather his supplies,were greeted with welcoming shouts by the whole population of St. Paul, which consisted at that time of about twelve white persons and two or three hundred Indians. In addition to a number of Indian lodges, there were only three or four log houses in the future capital city of Minnesota.

An early writer of the history of St. Paul says that in 1843 St. Paul "was a mixture of forests, hills, running brooks, ravines, bog-mires, lakes, mosquitoes, snakes, and Indians."  The road on Third Street from Jackson Street to Wabasha  Street was almost impassable on account of the thick underbrush and dense forest. North of Fourth Street, travel was almost out of the question on account of swamps and bogs. Near the old Capitol was a splendid waterfall, the waters of which found their way by many twists and turns to a lake on Eighth Street near Robert Street, in which the Indians and hardy white pioneers caught many fish. The waters of this lake found their way to the river by way of a gulch near Robert Street.

Up to 1846 there had not been much river traffic to and from St. Paul, but in that year the traffic increased to such an extent that St. Paul became one of the "points" (regular stopping places) of the river with much more frequent service. The river traffic grew Steadily till about 1858, and, though the Civil War affected it seriously, it continued till about 1862, in which year the first railroad in the state was built between St. Paul and St. Anthony (East Minneapolis). After railroads entered the state, the river traffic languished.

Up to 1849 the only way to get in or out of Minnesota (which then had about 1,000 inhabitants) was by way of the Mississippi, its branches, and Lake Superior. There were no stage lines or railroads; in fact, there were no roads that could be called roads. The river trip from St. Paul to St. Louis took from 25 to 30 days. The fuel used on the  steamers was wood, which was frequently chopped down by the passengers of the boat, if they were in a hurry to reach their destination.

The land conveyances were exceedingly primitive. To travel by wagon was impossible on account of the total lack of passable roads. A good horseman, however, could manage to make his way on the open prairie, some of the main Indian trails, and, in low water, on river bottoms. For freight, the only efficient land vehicle was the Red River cart.


The Red River carts were so named because a good stretch of the trail, between the Canadian Northwest and St. Paul, was in the Red River Valley. It is said that these carts were first made about 1800 and are still used to-day for the transportation of furs in the extreme northwestern sections of Canada that are distant from modern means of transportation. During the infancy of St. Paul the arrival of 150 to 200 Red River carts loaded with furs and drawn by oxen or ponies was one of the red-letter days for old and young. The excitement to-day incident to the coming of a big circus fades into insignificance compared to the excitement caused by the arrival of the Red River carts in the struggling jumping-off place called St. Paul in the forties and fifties of the nineteenth century. When the carts arrived in the latter part of August or early in September, the population of St. Paul, men, women, and children, neglected and abandoned all work in their eagerness to see several hundred (sometimes close to a thousand) carts line up on Third Street in charge of their fantastically clothed half-breed drivers, who, with their savage whoops and shouts, almost awoke the dead in the primitive churchyard a short distance away.

The carts were entirely made of wood and leather without a nail or scrap of iron. The two wheels simply consisted of well-seasoned wood that had been bent into the required circular shape. Between the wheels and resting upon the axle was a large wooden box into which a load of almost a thousand pounds of fur could easily be packed. The oxen or ponies were attached to the carts by wide belts of buffalo or deer hide. As the wooden axles and wheels were never lubricated, the noise made by the moving carts could be  heard for some distance. The boys and girls of St. Paul had sharp ears for the creaking and squeaking of these queer vehicles. No threat or punishment could prevent them from making a bee line to the source of the hideous noise.

The northern terminus of the Red River carts was Pembina or Winnipeg. The distance traveled by them per day was from twelve to fifteen miles. The route usually taken  as up the Red River to Big Stone Lake and then along the Minnesota River by way of Traverse des Sioux (St. Peter) to St. Paul. Sometimes a detour was made by way of Otter Tail and Sauk Rapids.

The drivers of the carts lived largely on pemmican, which consisted of dried, chopped-up buffalo-meat mixed with buffalo-fat. The mixture was then pounded and pressed into bags made of buffalo hide. Occasionally, however, when the oxen or ponies were resting and game was easy to obtain, a change of fresh meat was eagerly sought The cargo brought by these carts to St. Paul consisted chiefly of various furs and buffalo robes. The outgoing cargo from St. Paul was largely tea, tobacco, alcohol, and hunters' supplies. The importance to St. Paul of the Red River cart traffic may be judged from the fact that merchants adjusted their credits in such a way that they were not expected to pay their bills till a certain date after the arrival of the Red River carts.   Even personal accounts were, as a rule, not pressed until the squeaking and creaking Red River carts were on their home-bound trail to the Northwestern wilds of Minnesota and Canada.

The Minnesota Democrat of July 13, 1851, said: 'The great Red River caravan will he here on Thursday or Friday. It consists of 102 carts laden with buffalo skins, moccasins, leggings, coats, ornaments, curiosities, and pemmican."  The business made possible by such a caravan was an important asset to St. Paul. It reflects one phase of the  city's beginnings very vividly.

The first school in St. Paul was not a public school but a Protestant Mission School.   A missionary at Kaposia (South St. Paul) alarmed at the utter lack of educational and religious facilities for the growing generation wrote to the Governor of Vermont for help in procuring a Christian teacher for the young in the frontier village of St. Paul.   And as the nearest bookstore was fully 300 miles away from St. Paul, the missionary requested also that she bring school books along from the cultured Green Mountain State.   In accordance with this request, the governor sent Miss Harriet Bishop to St. Paul.   She is said to have been a typical New Englander, positive, determined, and non-compromising. At the Same time she was a devoted worker in her chosen field. Many are the hardships that she cheerfully bore for the sake of the religion and education of her pupils.   No blinding blizzard could keep her from her beloved school.   Nor could a skulking savage, in full war paint, frighten her from the trail to the school house.   The work she did in the  desolate river town in the Wild West can hardly be overestimated. It was no doubt back-breaking and discouraging work to teach reading, writing, arithmetic, and the  fundamentals of the Protestant religion to the half-savage children. Still this was comparatively easy toil compared with the desperate work Miss Bishop was compelled to do in making her pupils clean, wholesome, and courteous civilized human beings. She knew nothing of discouragement and had no idea of failure. Her influence for good in this wild outpost of advancing civilization was very great. She was the first torch-bearer of the culture of the East, the first transmitter of the wisdom of the ages on the banks of the upper Mississippi. If we consider the results she attained, we are filled with wonder when we examine the scanty means at her disposal and her more than primitive school environment.

Miss Bishop describes her schoolroom in these words: "A little log hovel, covered with bark and chinked with mud, previously used as a blacksmith shop. Dimensions 10 x 12.

On three sides of the interior of the humble cabin pegs were driven into the logs, upon which boards were laid for seats. A seat reserved for visitors was made by placing one end of a plank between cracks in the logs and the other end upon a chair. A cross-legged, rickety table in the center and a hen's nest in the corner completed the furniture."

In 1853, Dr. Edward D. Neil! established the Baldwin School, situated at Fifth and Washington streets, and named in honor of Matthew Baldwin, founder of the Baldwin Locomotive Works, who contributed to the erection and maintenance of the school. This school was intended for girls, but "lads" were admitted. The first year 43 girls and 26 boys attended. Anna M. Paul was principal, and Mary K. Brewster and Harriet A. Kellogg, assistants.

Two years later a department was organized for boys.  This department deveIoped finally into Macalester College, while the department for girls became Oak Hall, which is, therefore, the oldest exclusive girls' school in the city, except St. Joseph's Academy, which was founded in 1851.

Churches and schools usually develop side by side. In St. Paul the church was first.  Under the direction of Rev. Lucian Gaultier a Catholic church was erected at Third and Jackson streets.   Then came the first school in 1847. In 1847 St. Paul was just a small frontier town. Says Miss Bishop: "It must be borne in mind that St. Paul was a small trading post, giving as yet no sign of its unprecedented growth. The council fires of the  red men were but just extinguished on the east side (north side of the Mississippi) and were still brightly blazing on the opposite side of the river. Our village was almost daily thronged with Indians where they frequently encamped in larger numbers than the entire adult [white] male population of the Territory," The first Protestant church (Presbyterian) was erected in 1849 on Washington street near Fourth, with Rev. Edward D. Neill as pastor. The Methodist Episcopal denomination occupied a neat brick edifice in December of that same year, and soon afterwards the Protestant Episcopal and Baptist denominations erected buildings.

It was not till 1849 that the town of St. Paul was divided into three districts and the first  three public schools established. One of them was in the basement of a church, another in the lecture-room of a preacher, and the third was erected on a lot donated by W. H. Randall.

In the year 1840 St. Paul was incorporated as a town by Act of the Legislature. The same act created Ramsey County and made St. Paul the county seat. The corporate limits contained about ninety acres. Its present area is a little more than fifty-five square miles, or 35,482 acres. In other words, it is 391 times as large at present as when it was incorporated, and the present value of its real estate is approximately four hundred millions.

On March 4, 1854 St. Paul was incorporated as a city. In 1856 the vicinity of St. Paul was devastated of crops by a swarm of Rocky Mountain locusts that darkened the sky and caused terror. Wagon loads of these insects were shoveled off the streets and damped into the river.

Interesting First Facts of Saint Paul
First settler Pierre Parrant 1838
First wedding James R.CIewett and Rose Perry 1839
First white child born Basil Gervais 1839
First Catholic church At Third and Jackson Sts. 1841
First priest Rev. Lucian Gaultier 1841
First postmaster Henry Jackson 1846
First school teacher Harriet Bishop 1847
First school house at Third and St. Peter Sts. 1847
First physician and druggist Dr. John J. Dewey 1847
First hotel J. W. Bass 1847
First tax assessment $85,000 1849
First Protestant church On Washington St. near Fourth 1849
First Protestant pastor Rev. Edward D. Neill 1849
First brick residence Erected by Rev. Edward D. Neill 1849
First newspaper Minnesota Pioneer 1849
First Editor James M. Goodhue 1849
First 4th of July Celebration 1849
First Methodist Church Market St. opposite Rice Park 1849
First Thanksgiving Sermon Edward D. Neill 1850
First courthouse and jail At Washasha and Fourth Sts. 1851
First School for Girls St. Joseph's Academy 1851
First School for Boys Cretin 1851
First railroad St. Paul and Pacific 1852
First mayor David Olmstead 1854
First fire department Pioneer Hook and Ladder Co. 1855
First superintendent of schools   Edward D. Neill 1856
First police headquarters Adjacent to Rice Park 1857
First city directory 1,700 names 1857
First bridge across the Mississippi At Wabasha Street 1858
First Telegraph Message To Secretary W. H. Seward 1860

Who was the first settler in St. Paul?
Who proposed the present name for the city?
What was the first railroad built to the city? When?
On what transportation had we depended before railroads came?
Tell about the Red River traffic and carts.
What was the first school in St. Paul?
In what year was the city incorporated?

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

St. Paul – Chapter XIV – Indian Stories

(From “St. Paul Location-Development-Opportunities” by F. C. Miller, Ph. D., Webb Book Publishing Co., St. Paul, Minnesota, 1928)
In even savage bosoms
There are longings, yearnings, strivings
For the good they comprehend not.
                   --Henry W. Longfellow


In the early fifties, there were still many Indians in and about St. Paul. Perhaps the best known was a Sioux squaw who was called "Old Bets" by the whites. She lived near Mendota and was almost a daily visitor in St. Paul, selling moccasins and bouquets of wild flowers. Old Bets had a friendly smile for everybody. She became, despite her grotesque shape and deeply furrowed face, a great favorite among the people of St. Paul. Hardly anybody whom she accosted refused to buy from her or give her some money when she asked for "kosh-poppy" (Sioux for "money"). Few people who saw her waddle along Third Street thought that this old, unattractive squaw had a romantic past.

Old Bets had been a young, lithesome Indian maid. Many a warrior had cast wistful glances at the handsome, fawn-like girl. She, however, had eyes for only one, a young brave who had distinguished himself not only in the annual buffalo chase but also on the field of battle against the hated Chippewas on the other side of the Mississippi. Her brother, however, a medicine man of great parts and almost supreme influence among the Sioux at the mouth of the Minnesota River, was violently opposed to the warrior's union with his sister. The Indian maid became sad and sorrowful.  She, who had been the sunshine of her father's lodge forgot to laugh, forgot to hum the loved Indian tunes.. [1-2 words illegible] silent shadow, shunned her merry, youthful companions, and sought solace for her great sorrow in the deep and dusky forest surrounding the wigwams of the Sioux band.

One day, however, during the Indian summer, when Manitou is always gracious to his dusky children, she met her lover in a dense grove near the bank of the Minnesota
River. The two lovers were delighted to see each other, and both gave fervid thanks to Manitou, the friend of loving couples. Their frenzied joy, however, was tempered by the
thought of speedy parting. Both became sad and sorrowful. But why part? Did the Indian god not favor their love? So the two resolved to flee as a married couple.

Early next morning, long before sunrise, the young warrior and his bride fled westward on fleet Indian ponies. Though anxious and fearsome at the start, they soon became happy and hopeful as the galloping horses put mile after mile between the hard-hearted medicine man and the loving couple.

In the meantime, a little after sunrise, the angry brother had discovered the flight of his sister with the man he hated. With a few trusty warriors, on the fleetest ponies of the Sioux camp, the ferocious medicine man rode furiously, rage and revenge in his heart, on the trail that led westward.  The tomahawk concluded the flight and the story, but the bereaved woman never forgot her lover.


In the spring of 1851, a dead Indian was found near Third Street. To judge from the wounds inflicted no white man could have been the murderer. The sheriff, having been informed of the crime, was determined to bring the murderer to justice. Accordingly, he hastened with a strong guard of soldiers to a camp of Indians nearby.

The Indians were quietly cooking their supper and were conversing with one another in low tones when the sheriff arrived. A few stragglers in front of the camp hurried to the approaching official and asked him and his party to come into camp and partake of the supper that was just about ready. The sheriff thanked the hospitable Indians for their kindness and said that he and his party could not, to their sorrow, enjoy the delicacies offered, because he had come on a very serious errand that brooked no delay. In the meantime a number of other Indian warriors had come from the inner camp who were wondering at the presence of the pale-face chief and his soldiers. The situation seemed to become rather serious; still the sheriff's sixth sense told him that the Indians had no intentions of opposing him in doing his duty. At the same time he thought that frankness and promptness would be the best policy. Consequently, he told the throng of savages what had happened and what he wanted. Scarcely had the sheriff finished his short address when a big hulking Indian pressed himself forward toward the sheriff and said in a distinct, matter of fact way: "You want to know who killed the vile carrion you found? I did, pale-face chief. I did. My name is Standing Rock."

The self-confessed slayer submitted peacefully to arrest and quietly followed the dread officer of the law to his carpenter shop, for in 1851 the frontier town could not yet boast of a jail. Here he was detained about ten days till the grand jury met. Standing Rock did not, for a minute, entertain the idea of jail breaking. That was not a man's part. A  tenderfoot might have tried and surely would have succeeded, for there was nothing between the prisone and freedom but a rickety windowlatch.

He was indicted for murder, but, upon promising the grand jury to return upon a certain day for trial, he was released. Standing Rock, cutting a number of notches into a stick, equal to the number of days to the date of his trial, quietly withdrew and went hunting with his tribe.   To the surprise of everybody, the Indian appeared on the day agreed upon, ready for trial.   And, as his case was not called for about a week, Standing Rock came every morning, sat quietly on a doorstep, and awaited the summons of the court. Neither the blazing sun nor two rainstorms could make him budge. When some half-breeds passed by and told him what a fool he was to await pale-face justice, he calmly replied: "A man must keep his word."   When he was finally called, he gave a true account of the incident, and the jury, without retiring, found him not guilty.   Standing Rock had not committed murder at all. He had simply carried out the order of the tribe, which had found the victim guilty of a crime highly offensive to both the rude pioneers and the simple-minded Indians, and which was punishable by death according to Indian customs.


In the early pioneer days, the Indians were treated with more respect than now.   To some extent they were considered fully the equals of the white settlers.   The Indians on the Minnesota frontier, though somewhat contaminated by white vices, were still a sturdy, dignified, and haughty race, proud of their blood, proud of their land, proud of their tribal past and traditions, and proud of their honor.   They were a people who kept their promises, a people who believed in "a square deal," and a people who did not know what the terms "fear" and "cowardice" meant.   These traits which the best of the white pioneers themselves possessed could hardly help but appeal to most of the white settlers.   Consequently, in early days Indians and whites freely intermingled, and  practically all public places of entertainment and amusement were open to the Indians.    Such treatment found a responsive chord in the heart of the Indians, and, accordingly, they always tried to act, speak, and behave, as much as possible, as white gentlemen.   History bears out the fact that they did so, unless they were intoxicated or had been taken advantage of by white scoundrels or their tribal animosities against other Indians had been dangerously aroused. It was, therefore, a common sight in the pioneer days to see Indians frequent white hotels, ask for white entertainment, ready to pay white prices.

holeinthedayOne day in the early fifties there walked into a St. Paul
hotel "Hole-in-the-Day," a Chippewa chief, a man of imposing presence. With commanding personality, the Indian chief, with his blanket wound about him like a Caesar or a Bruins with his toga, stepped forward, greeted the assembled guests with a friendly "Booshy nechee" (How do friend?) and took a seat in the lobby.

Presently dinner was announced and, while the white guests rushed pell-mell into the dining room, he betook himself to the same place, in quiet manner, in accord with the dignity of a chief of the Chippewas.  Taking a vacant seat near an open window the chief sat down and partook slowly of the food placed before him. And then he wondered whether his squaw and papooses would be safe during his short absence, whether the hated Sioux might not make a raid and rob him of all he loved best.

The window opposite his table suddenly being darkened, Hole-in-the-Day looked up and saw a party of Sioux warriors, in full war paint, passing by outside and casting hostile glances at him. A white newspaper man who was sitting near the renowned chief became rather nervous at the sight of shining knives and glittering tomahawks and left the table for a more restful place.   Hole-in-t he-Day, however,peacefully proceeded with his meal. Even when the door opened and thirty Sioux braves entered the dining room and paraded with insolent bravado in front of him, the Chippewa chief remained calm. After having  leisurely finished his meal, he rose, like Cato in the Roman senate, and, wrapping his blanket about him, walked in front of the bloodthirsty enemies of his tribe, and, slowly lighting his calumet, blew the smoke into the very faces of the hated Sioux and stalked quietly out of the hotel. The dumbfounded Sioux did not dare attack the brave Hole-in-the-Day, lest the Great White Father's braves at Fort Snelling would indict fearful punishment.

Hole-in-the-Day never forgot the deadly danger he had been in on that day, and, swearing bloody vengeance, he is reported to have come frequently to St. Paul in his canoe, where he would cross the river, hide his craft, await passing Sioux, slink u|pon them, slay them, and depart safely with their scalps to the sheltering cliffs of St. Paul.


Indians never forgive. They know no such word as apology. "An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth" is a fundamental Indian principle.

On the other hand, the Indian never forgets kindness shown to him. Do him a trifling favor and he will be your friend. Feed him when he is hungry, house and nurse him when he is sick or disabled, and he will risk his life for you if you should happen to be in distress or danger.

To the Indian ingratitude is a deadly sin, that Manitou, the Great Spirit, not only frowns upon but punishes with everlasting torture. Bloody revenge for wrongs and undying gratitude for kindness and friendly help are almost the sum-total of Indian philosophy.

What has been said is shown by the following substantially true account of Chaska, the bravest warrior of Little Crow of Kaposia (South St. Paul) and his white friend, George Spencer, a merchant of Yellow Medicine, a small pioneer settlement on the head waters of the Minnesota River.

One winter evening in 1860, just before Christmas, the snow storm that had been raging all day long turned into a blizzard. The wind was howling over the bleak prairies and piling up the snow into almost impassable drifts. Spencer's little store was almost buried under a thick cover of snow and the rude shack was trembling and swaying to and fro. The wind that was coming through the cracks of the rough boards had blown out one candle and Spencer was afraid that the other one also might be blown out. That it might not be blown out, he was just about to put it in an iron pot, when there came a loud knocking at the  door.

Mrs. Spencer began to scream. Her husband tried to comfort her, rushed to the door, and shouted: "What is it?   Who are you?   What do you want?" A feeble voice from outside answered: "Me Indian. Me cold.   Open door!"

Mrs. Spencer almost collapsed with fright. "Don't be afraid, Josie. It is some poor Indian. I must let him in. He'll freeze stiff if I don't. Here, sit down. No danger. My gun is loaded. Now, Josie, be quiet. I must let him in."

Spencer opened the door and in fell an Indian, all but dead. Mrs. Spencer, though far from being composed, saw at a glance that no possible harm could come to her. So she helped her husband to make the Indian comfortable. The sturdy savage, accustomed to wind and storm, fully recovered in a day or two.

When he left he thanked his kind white rescuers and told them that he was Chaska from Kaposia, far, far away, on the banks of the Mississippi, that Kaposia was but a short trail from White Cliffs (St. Paul), and that Manitou would not let him forget what his pale-face friends had done for him.

Two years afterwards, the Sioux tribes under Little Crow rose against the whites. They spread terror to the settlers of the middle and upper course of the Minnesota River. Settlers on outlying farms were mercilessly slain. Scalping parties brought horror, dismay, and death to the whole region. Even the towns were not safe. New Ulm
and several other settlements were almost captured by the Indians.

One war-party of Sioux, among whom was Chaska, had gone westward on its bloody trail as far as Yellow Medicine. An early morning attack had been planned. Chaska dreaded the fate of the Spencers. Compelled to keep his desire to save them and their friends from his tribesmen, he hurried on with them, ready to save their lives at any cost. Some of the braves were a little suspicious of him. Though he gave the Sioux war-whoop with the same ferocity as they gave it, they had never seen him kill any white person.

Though Chaska tried to rush on, the warriors crowded about him and kept him back. When Yellow Medicine was reached their blood-thirst got the better of their suspicion and they ran upon the defenseless men, leaving Chaska behind. After a little, he ran with incredible swiftness to Spencer's store. The door had been smashed and the windows were broken. He rushed into the house and was just in time to throw himself between the Spencers and the blood-reeking savages. He succeeded in beating them off and bringing the Spencers to the timbered bottom lands of the Minnesota River. Here he hid them, brought them water and told them to stay until he returned. He himself went back to the fray and at the risk of his life saved a  number of other whites from the frenzy of the drunken Indians. Having obtained a keg of "fire-water," the Sioux were soon so drunk that Chaska had little trouble to bring the Spencers and the other survivors of the massacre to safe quarters.

Shortly afterwards General Sibley came with his hastily gathered troops and put an end to the Sioux uprising.
Chaska's tribesmen never forgot what he had done for their pale-face enemies. Afraid to murder him openly, they finally succeeded in secretly poisoning him.

Chaska's widow, shunned and hated by the Indians, was left by them to shift for herself and her papooses. She lived in the Indian village near Mendota.

General Sibley and other St. Paul men tried to secure a pension for her from the government. When they failed in this, they themselves housed, fed, and clothed her and her children. But Lucy, as she was known in St. Paul, was too proud to accept charity, so she made moccasins and trapped game, which she readily sold in St. Paul.

Tell the romantic story of Old Bets.
What good traits did Standing Rock show?
Why did the Sioux not attack Hole-in-the-Day?
What noble trait did Chaska exhibit?