Millerville History
Millerville Township, Douglas County, Minnesota, USA
OLD TIMES AND OLD FACES.
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Recollections of the Early Days Of Alexandria and of the
Old Timers
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AS THEY ARE TOLD BY ONE OF THEM
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In the Days of the Unmolested Forests and the Friendly
Chippewas.
Alexandria Post News
Thursday, April
© Thursday, April 22, 1897
Page 1
When the poet wrote "How dear to my heart are the scenes
of my childhood," he said something for all of us, rich
and poor alike, no matter where those scenes were laid.
As for us, our first recollections of events in the
history of a lifetime commence at Alexandria, not the
well regulated and charming village of strangers, to us,
of today; but the unmolested forests, rough roads, rolling
prairies, brimming lakes and friendly Chippewas of the
Alexandrea of thirty-six years ago, for while we cannot
claim the distinction of an "old settler," we feel safe
in saying we were an "early settler," having arrived with
our parents in June, 1861, riding in behind four Wisconsin
steers that would even make Chris Raiter's smile to look
at. Mr. Cook, "a fine old English gentleman," was keeping
a stage station near where the elevators now are, and the
late J. H. VanDyke was keeping the mercantile end of the
business. "Fannie" and "Carrie" were undisputed belles
of the town; but time works its changes and now finds
them honored matrons of the rising city. C. J. C. Bedman
was playing horse, rolling hoops, and spinning tops out
near lake Darling. The wigwam blaze beamed on the new
arrivals for a year and then came that terrible war whoop
that scattered death, terror and destruction to all on
the frontier in the fall of '62. Horse teams were few and
in great demand as the rush to St. Cloud was made to escape
the Indians. "Sam" Thompson was one to own a pair of horses
and was also a hero when it came to emergencies and many
an old settler well remembers how he put his team at the
disposal of the women and children in this exciting time,
and "Old Ned" never behaved better than when he had a load
of such precious freight.
After three years of hardship incident to war times we
arrived again, but things were different. A fort and
soldiers were now in possession, Mr. Cowing and Mr.
Canfield had come in from their farms and located near
the fort; Mr. Wyman bought cows and the soldier boys
bought milk pans, and when it was not war with Indians
it was war with Wyman. For in the words of Mr. W. instead
of selling milk to the soldiers, he had to buy of them
"By Goffery!" Geo. Whitcomb, "the Captain's son," drove
the best span of "sorrels" that ever headed a sleighride
in Douglas woods.
"Confidence" was soon restored, settlers new and old came
and located on their farms at remote distances from the
fort, Jas. Dickens, who knew how to set a trap for a mink,
located on his present farm west of the timber, and can
probably tell more about the history of Douglas county
than any other man in it. The lamented Hicks soon came
upon the scene and with unsurpassed energy and foresight
planned the city that should come up as a monument to a
generous and public spirited man. Time flew fast and easy,
all was anticipation; new faces came on the scene every
day, and it would take a good memory to tell just who came
first, but suffice it to say that about this time Oscar
Robards walked into the county with a view of locating,
and some say he did locate. Clarence Hurlbut was just as
good at wrestling as he is now, and a good deal more
"sassy." "Johnnie" Lampman made some of his best time on
the turf about these days, while Geo. Roe had a monopoly
of the "pictur" business. John Cowing early conceived the
idea that there was more money and less camping out in
hardware than the fur business, while the Hon. "Bob's"
record on the diamond in the palmy days of base ball, was
nothing to be ashamed of.
But in the course of human events many of those who were
in the first trapping and hunting expeditions, first
logging camps, first spelling, schools, grand balls and
society circles for which Alexandria was noted, are
scattered to other parts of this great earth, while
others have gone to the other shore; but no more to be
forgotten than those living, and who does not enjoy a
moment in our busy career to think of some dear old
friend. Distance and time cut no figure. The human family
are wisely endowed with a voluntary power of affection
that binds us to a certain extent to old neighbors and
associates. Like the dead, their errors are forgotten and
only their good qualities remain fresh in our memory. If it
were possible to call them all together again, we would
find that fortune had smiled on some and frowned on others,
that some had got religion, and others had lost it, that
some had changed to other creeds, that some had changed
their politics and so on, each being so sure he was right
in his new way that even Mr. VanWinkle would wonder where
he was at. Some have graced the halls of congress, some
have stood on the gallows; but none are forgotten. But
there's another not yet mentioned, who probably will be
remembered by more readers of this article than any other
of the old pioneers, for who did not know Joseph U.
Roland, his violin and his dog keeper? All music loving
people especially, will never forget him, for Joe was one
of the very few born gentlemen. In the busy mill,
logging camp, on the hunt, the crowded street, social party
or ball, he was always the same; never oppressing the weak
or ridiculing the unfortunate. How few of us will ever
merit such praise. Rheumatic pains and northern breezes
of the past winter made it necessary for us to seek a
milder clime, and after a month a Hot Springs, "Arkansaw,"
the land of bandits, hotel runners and skim milk, we
journeyed over the verdant prairies of Texas and of
course visited our old friend "Joe," whom we had not seen
for twenty-one years. We found him nicely situated on his
farm three miles from the inland village of Postoak,
seventy miles northwest on the ancient city of Fort
Worth. As might be expected of such a disposition, his
selection of a partner for life is in every way suitable.
A southern lady of rare ability presides over the household
and surely it is that a southern home with such a wife is
much preferable to the untrammeled dignity of a "bachelor's
hall" in the north. The voices of five bright children
ring out there also - Maggie, Edna, Sadie, Guy Rufus, and
Johnnie. Ample horses, cattle, hogs, etc., are on the farm
and a beautiful peach orchard is near the house. The
country is well wooded and the water is first-class.
Cotton is the principle crop and Joe seems to have solved
the problem to success and says more "cotton pickers" the
better. He is out of debt and doing well, and while he
would not think of coming north, he sympathizes with us
shivering mortals in fur coats, while he basks in the
glowing light of his large fireplace. The people of Texas
are very sociable and a northern man gets as much attention
as the dancing bear in the north. "Rat" Fullingame, the
mayor of Postoak, whose nimble fingers trot over a violin
board like a darky over a flatboat, is one of the jolliest
musicians in Texas, and yet he frankly admits the only
keys he knows anything about is whis-key. The graveyard at
Postoak is the final resting place of "Bill" Stewart and
wife who built the little log cabin years ago that may be
seen from the car window on the north side of the track
in the timber half a mile east of Brandon.
While we may not all find our last resting place in Texas,
we will surely find it somewhere not many years hence,
for like the Grand Army of the Republic, the pioneers of
Alexandria are passing away and the horologe of eternity
will all too soon tick their requiem. R. A. D.
E-mail: dwagner2@isd.net
©2003 DJW
Last Modified:
December 6, 2003