Old Rail Fence Corners - Various

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from the state.

      "We had one of the new territory of Minnesota when it was admitted in '49, but just threw it out when we cleaned house lately. I think it came from Washington," said one dear old pioneer woman.

      "What do you want of those old roads anyway," said another. "If you had been over them as I have, you would know how much better these roads are, and be glad they are gone."

      It was hard to locate them from hearsay for when we asked "Did it go through Alexandria," the answer was, "There was no town on it after leaving St. Cloud, so I can't say just where it went, but we went to Fort Garry and crossed the river at Georgetown."

      Finally, after nearly a year's hard work, as we were on our way to the Capitol to look over the first government surveys, Mr. George Ralph was met, became interested, and drew part of these trails from the old plats for this map.

      When a surveyor goes into a new country to make a government survey, he is required to place on that plat every trail, road or plowed field—John Ryan, who worked in the forties was the only one we found who always followed these directions. He would survey several townships, and there would be the much-wanted road. Some other surveyor would do the one below and there would be a break, but John would take hold again a little further on and the trail could be joined from the direction shown.

      Later this map made was compared with old maps since destroyed at the Army Building in St. Paul and found correct.

      The three great routes for the Red River carts to St. Paul, the great fur market, which used to come down by the hundreds from the Pembina and Fort Garry country are shown. One through the Minnesota Valley; one through the Sauk Valley, and the most used of all through the Crow Wing Valley by way of Leaf Lake. They used to come to the head waters of the Mississippi in 1808.[1] The Wabasha Prairie Road, called Winona Trail on this map, was a very old one, as also were those leading to the sacred Pipestone Quarries and the sacred Spirit Lake. There is a tradition that there was a truce between all tribes when these trails were followed. Mrs. J. T. M.

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      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

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      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.

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      Minneapolis

      LUCY LEAVENWORTH WILDER MORRIS

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      (Mrs. J. T. Morris)

      Mr. Eli Pettijohn—1841.

      Mr. Pettijohn, now ninety-five years old,[2] clear in memory, patriarchial in looks, says:

      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 House had been built after the fort was, by Mr. Baker, a trader, to accommodate people from the south, who wanted to summer here. It was now deserted by its owners and any one of the sparse

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