Bartlett, Ramsey County, ND The End of the Track By Geo. L. Barrett, Lakota, N. D. ************************************************************************ USGENWEB ARCHIVES NOTICE: These electronic pages may NOT be reproduced in any format for profit or presentation by any other organization or persons. Persons or organizations desiring to use this material, must obtain the written consent of the contributor, or the legal representative of the submitter, and contact the listed USGenWeb archivist with proof of this consent. http://www.usgwarchives.net/nd/ndfiles.htm ************************************************************************ (C)2001 Mary Lindbo No greater thrill could possibly have come into the life of a boy of seventeen than came into mine in the early morning of the thirtieth of August, 1882, as I stood on the rear platform of the little St. Paul, Minneapolis and Manitoba passenger train as it rolled along from Fargo, D. T. to Grand Forks. I had just crossed the great river and was actually speeding through the wonderful valley of which I had been reading all the previous winter and spring in newspapers, magazines, circulars, by posters in the lobbies of all hotels, depots, barber shops and wherever people might see them. I can still see the maps in my mind; they were very appealing, particularly to the young men of that day. An irresistable power was drawing us to this new, almost unknown land, the Red River and the Red River Valley of the North and the Land of the Dakotas. The Valley As I stood on the little platform, the rising sun peeking through the tree tops, skirting the river east of me; the dark blue sky of night was fast receding over the western horizon straight as an arrow flies, hardly distinguishable, so perfectly did it blend with the miles of waving prairie grass, interspersed with fields of golden grain. I filled my lungs to capacity time and time again; it was something I had never sensed before, nor have I since, for that matter. It was captivating! I could feel the value of my return harvest excursion ticket which I had in my pocket going down, down down with every mile we traveled, and I really did sell it the next day for $10.00, for a ride back to northern Illinois. To express it in the language of this day, I was completely sold at sight, and I have never, even after forty-four years, regretted the selling. It was a new world to me, and I recall that most of the passengers were young men; not many as young as I, for I was just a boy, weighing 110 pounds, but I felt as big, and had as much enthusiasm, as any of them. Our train arrived at Grand Forks, a bustling little city, and there, also, the great majority were young people filled with hope and great expectations. Big things were coming and every one was alert to grasp the opportunities were on every hand. Every one had a title of some kind. Colonel Smith wits then in his prime, a veteran of the Civil War, whose military bearing harmonized with the western style. Colonel Brown, the band major, and mayor of the city, Major Hamilton, Captain Griggs, Captain McCormick, William Budge and Jake Eshelman, these were among the number; and. recall meeting Dave Holmes, Willis Joy, R. B. Griffith. Mr. Wheeler and others who are still in Grand Forks. The Western Extension Big things were coming. New lands were to be opened in the West. Jim Hill's engineers were scouting. The railroad bridge had been bunt across the river, rails had been laid WEST, first to Stickney, then to Larimore, and the dirt was now flying beyond Larimore. Where would it go? was the question on everyone's lips. Townsite plots were hanging in the windows of all the real estate offices. Harrisburg, Wamduska and Odessa, the latter place being at that time a candidate for the new territorial capital, soon to be relocated, all showed the railroad in a very conspicuous manner. I called on Colonel Brown, who had a big hardware store, the first day I was there and he gave a job. I went to work next day, and when pay day came he gave me the wages of a man, and I surely felt like one. As I became better acquainted, I asked Mr. Brown, "Where is James J. Hill going with his railroad?" He replied, "No one will believe it, but I want to tell you that he is bound for Puget Sound. To the average person of those days, to think of building a railroad through the great wilderness of no man's land, through deserts and over mountains, in impenetrable forests, without a government land grant, was just impossible, and not to be thought of seriously. Have not the Northern Pacific and other Pacific roads been given every alternate section of land for twenty miles on each side, and then become insolvent? But Col. Brown insisted that Mr. Hill knew better than all the rest, that the land grant was more a liability than an asset, that to make a railway pay it had to have business, not land, that to have business, he must have a settler on every quarter section of land tributary to his railroad. The government was willing and anxious to give land free to any who would venture out on these unknown and untried prairies. So with this big idea in mind, Mr. Hill started out on the biggest venture of the century. He would start the rails WEST; though thousands of miles were ahead of him, he would consolidate the country as he went; he would bring the boys and young men from the East and fill up the land, and then move on. His was the master mind. He will ever be known as the "Empire Builder," but it was the boys of the eighties and nineties that flocked to his standard that made it possible. Mr. Hill brooked no interference in his plans. Townsite enthusiasts were trying to capitalize on the new extensions. Harrisburg, Wamduska and Odessa, all natural townsites, were given the go-by, and their promoters lost accordingly. Lakota was to have been a point for a pause in his extension work, but the contractors, having a good season, pushed on as far as Bartlett, In the fall of '82. Frank Bartlett and Goodhue of Larimore scripped the land where Bartlett now stands, and the City of Bartlett made a wonderful start, but Mr. Hill had no notion that it should be a city. He never did recognize such a place until W. H. Standish enjoined him from moving the station away and all the early shipments were billed to the "End of the Track." There were to be no townsites in which he was not a participant. That was final notice to all, and he had no further trouble along these lines in all his extensions to the Coast. The First Train Out But the "End of the Track" was where Bartlett and Goodhue had scripped the land and laid out the township of Bartlett. It was in the late fall and ground was frozen. Mr. Hill could not move farther, so he built the warehouse and depot to take care of the immense tonnage which was to move there in the coming spring, and he gave warning that when the rails moved there would be no station at Bartlett; but that didn't stop the enthusiasts - Bartlett would be a city yet. Maybe Mr. Hill had spent his last dollar and would have to remain there a few years at any rate. Town lots began to sell, and nearly all the central block, as it now stands, and across streets were sold at good figures, a building of some kind was erected on a majority of the lots sold. Winter was at hand. The new road from Larimore could not he used for traffic. A few supplies came through at the last moment, and winter tightened for one of the hardest and longest that the county every knew. Everything for man and beast had to be freighted from Larimore, and a steady train of building materials kept the trails open. Bartlett was building all through the long winter of '82 and '83 - the idea was to "get while the getting was good." The spring of '83 was to be the big event in the district now called the Lake Region. As the magnet draws the particles of steel within the scope of its power, the "End of the Track" was pulling us boys all winter. It was an irresistable power; we just had to go, for we felt there was something good out here for us all. The snows had piled high, blown and blown until it was as solid as ice; teams heavily laden could travel on the crust. The Fort Totten mail was carried largely by sailing snowboats, and to us it seemed that winter would never let go. Late in March, it was rumored that the first train out would leave Sunday morning, March 25th. The snow was just as hard as it had been all winter; the road had to be cut out by hand. We went up to Larimore, stayed all night, and early Sunday morning all crowded into the caboose of the St. P., M. & N. and it was surely crowded - the first train out for the "End of the Track." It was largely emigrant cars in which the owners stayed with their stock. Henry Blaufus, Fred Ferris, Jerry Cronin and J. H. Bolyea were among the number. Mr. Murray, who settled east of Devils Lake was in the caboose, I recall he had a plymouth-rock rooster and two hens in a crated box, as start for his poultry establishment. It was a long bleak trail through the wilderness of snow. We saw little evidence of life after leaving Niagara. There were no stations between there and our destination, just snow and more snow. The train barely crawled; coming up the Niagara hills sounded like trains of today crossing the Continental Divide. We had to help shovel out occasionally, and water for the engine was blocks of frozen snow. It was evening when we finally arrived and the Bartlett "multitude" came down to greet "the first train through." Feeling the necessity for economy, I sought a cheap place in which to stay, and was directed to the Bartlett House, north of the track. John Burlingame was clerk. Rates, $1.00 per day, board and lodging. I was tired and wanted rest, so I registered and asked the number of my room. "Number 42! Take this boy up," was John's order. He started up the stairs and I was led to room No. 42 which consisted of the loft of the story and a half structure called the Bartlett house. In it were twenty-one bunks, two high, and two men to the bunk, making forty-two, the number of my room. It was unfinished all around and above us, just one thickness of lumber, and no ventilation whatever. It was bitter cold and the moisture of the breath of forty-two men formed ice on the underside of the roof above us. As morning approached they let the heat come up from below, and the ice melted, precipitating quite a mist, which so dampened the red, yellow and green quilts in which we were rolled, that when we arose, we all looked like Easter eggs. Bartlett Booming Trains came in daily loaded with immigrant supplies, building and railroad materials, army supplies, and merchandise of all kinds. Hundreds of people from all stations in life were arriving daily. Hammers and saws were making it merry. Bartlett was on the boom. Of the hotels, The Flint House, which stood north of the present Freeburg store, was the best, with some twenty rooms. The Fargo House, standing on the corner of the present school grounds, was about the same. John Carrol and Mr. Mararinis were the proprietors, and Rundell and Label took care of the bar. The McFadden House and the Lynch House took care of a goodly number, and with the Bartlett House and the Crocker House, besides many small places for lodging and eats, the multitude were taken care of. Nor was there any lack of refreshments; there were plenty of places to slacken the thirst of the throngs passing in and out daily. I never did know just how many saloons there were, but it seemed nearly every other establishment one passed had liquor for sale. Many claimed there were twenty-one saloons. There was no license to pay, and it was easy to get established in business. Many of them never closed their doors, they were open night and day. "The Diamond" was one of the swell places, and we all remember it because of their having a piano and a darkey who sang and played almost continually, 'Boys, keep away from the girls, I say, give them lots of room," and 'Bartlett. dear Bartlett, will be the dandy of Dakota, yet," were among his favorites that rang out through the night. "Skinny" and "Skan" Frost had the biggest place just south of the present Bartlett State Bank, facing west. There one could see all that the wild west had to offer; every game of chance that had ever been invented was on the boards for all who wanted to try their luck. All the gamblers of the West flocked in, notably Dr. Westlake, "Farmer Brown," Dan Sullivan and Fred Lagewslager; they were all there, and, as I see it now, they were true to the type of that day. Aside from the regular gamblers' percentages, every one seemed to have a square. There was lots of liquor drank, but very little drunkeness; no one robbed of his money, and there was no rough handling of the crowds. ways gave these old professionals credit for letting us boys strictly alone. As the trains kept coming in loaded to capacity, business grew apace. There were lumber yards galore. I think there were eleven, the lumber strung along the track west of town for half a mile. I recall Twiford's, Charlie Currier's, Bob Crosby's, Dick Daley's and Hitchcock's, but there were many more. Of general stores there were five: Hans Johnson, south of the Flint House, Smith & Wisner, in the big tent on the site of the present Methodist Church, and east in the block next, was John Weeks where Ernie Kent clerked, and Agnes Campbell's place, Ferris and Palmer were in the block north facing the east. Of hardware stores there were three: Baughmans', just south of Ferris and Palmer, McLaughlin's, just east of the blacksmith shop and Nash's, in the block south. Flour and feedstores were numerous. I recall Mr. Braddish, across from the depot, Will Brown's place and "Sheet Iron" Brown, east of the Fargo Hotel. C. C. Wolcott had the one bank, which stood on the corner now occupied by the building which used to be the Bartlett State Bank. The genial Tom Taylor was cashier. Frank Bartlett built the blacksmith shop and Brannon was the smithy, while Frank Goldammer was pounding lays and learning English and Sioux out at Kelley's Corner west of town. C. L. Wehe operated a wholesale grocery establishment at a point just in front of the present school house and his little boy, Arthur, was the shipping clerk, and Arthur organized the Bartlett Red Socks, the first ball team in Ramsey county. George Barrett had a place next west of the Smith & Wisner store, where he outfitted settlers with Sheet Iron stoves and real ovens in them, roof jacks, chimneys, pipes and similar equipment. His was the first manufacturing plant in the Lake Region. Livery was one of the big business interests of the city. "Jim" Beatty and "Jim" Harris had a one story tar-papered barn north of the Fargo House on which was a sign that read "pretty good barn for this country." Right back of them was one operated by "Jake" Smith and Archie Purcell. Mr. Rendall had a fine barn just south of "The Diamond," and John Nott had one close by. Pete Norris had another just east of the Flint House. There were other smaller stables and all were busy. A number of land offices were opened. I recall in particular the one which stood just east of the Beatty & Harris barn, operated by the Ward Brothers, who met their untimely deaths near Devils Lake in a claim affair. Tony Scarf owned the drug store south of Hans Johnson's store and Doc Dean was with him. Bunt Holt and Carner were the leading machine dealers, although there were others who carried wagons and plows. Nagel was the railroad agent and Fred Stoltz the expressman, while "Tonny" Thorsen handled the U. S. Mail. Geo. H. Winters, "Gentleman George," who in after years appeared at every "End of the Track" of the world, Klondike, Sumatra and South Africa was there editing the "Bartlett News." He convinced all the businessmen that they should advertise (even "Tonny Thorsen advertised the Bartlett Postoffice) although he had no subscription list and his readers were mostly transients. "Pete" Morris owned the one spectacular enterprise of that day - the frontier stage, which made daily trips to "Creelsburg," now Devils Lake. With "Jim" Kelly perched upon the front seat, always crowded inside and out, with a crack of the big black whip and a whoop and a yell, away they would roll. And "Jim" could do more than that - he "called" all the dances, and no one could miss a step. All lines of business necessary for those days were well represented. We had little use for professionals; doctors, dentists, lawyers, and undertakers had poor picking; even clergymen were scarce and transient. With the coming and going of hundreds of car loads of immigrant shipments, of building materials, not only for Bartlett, but for buildings of the settlers and for erection of buildings in the new towns which were starting to the west, and all the merchandise and supplies incidental to a new country, together with all government supplies incidental to maintaining a goodly sized garrison at the Fort, things were fairly humming, and a motley crowd of people they were. Men from everywhere and all classes of them; farmers, mechanics, men looking for business openings in all lines, in the territory beyond. Soldiers of Fortune from the ends of the earth, and coupled with these were Indians, with their teams from the reservation to haul government supplies, accompanied by troopers from the fort, half-breeds from the Turtle Mountains, with their Red River carts, each drawn by one pony, cow men from the Mouse River country, all combined to make Bartlett and the "End of the Track" the busiest place the Dakotas had every witnessed. A Few of the "Empire Builders" Major Cramsey, the Indian Agent, and Frank Palmer, the Indian trader at Fort Totten; Colonel Creel, the West Pointer, who had only recently relinquished his command at the fort and who had crossed over the Lake and established the city of Creelsburg; Captain Herman, who built the "Minnie H" on Devils Lake; John Cowan, John Maher, the Crary boys, Lamereaux, the store keeper, at Jerusalem; Mr. Grant, the squaw-man and trader at the east end of the reservation; Wm. Flinn, who located at the end of the Blue Mountains; Frank Prosser and Mr. Rumley from Odessa; Jim Dean from up near Danas Grove and Emmett Pew of Cando, were all frequently seen among those coming in from the went; and from other directions. I recall seeing C. T. Allen and Josiah Pierce driving in from Crosier, Joe Clifford from his Wamduska claim, A. M. Tofthagen from the Sheyenne; Wm. Harris, townsite proprietor of Harrisburg, J. P. Lamb, his leading merchant, and John Hennessy, who ran the hotel. From the camp located down where the city of Lakota now stands, there was J. M. C. McMaster, J. M. Howard. F. I. Kane, Simon and Jim Cramond, Jack Goudy, and Harry Forbes; these boys all came up when there was something special on. There were the Nash Brothers of grocery fame and Emery Mapes who was trying the townsite stunt himself, further east, and later of Cream of Wheat, and Mr. Miller from the south shore of Stump Lake, who is credited with being the earliest white settler in Nelson county and Dave Hullet, who was a "squatter" of 1881, east of town. Nearer by, were the "Illinois Boys," the Metcalf's, Dore Rose, Howser's; and the Groves', Saunders', the Grants and Mahoneys', the Schindele's, Wisharts' and Guttings' came from farther south. All of these men I still remember mingled with the multitudes who came and went in those days through Bartlett and the "End of the Track." The Squatter The steady stream of emigrants moving out every morning, some with horses, others with oxen, loaded to the guards, was an interesting sight to see. I recall one instance in particular that illustrates quite clearly what a "squatter" had to do to get on to the land and establish a "right." It was in the latter part of April - the snow had finally disappeared; and sloughs were lakes; frost was coming out and travel was very difficult. There was no such thing as a road - no real trails had been worn out from the "End of the Track," but a multitude of them were started, each one picking the highest ground he could find, with the prospect of "doubling up" with some one ahead to pull through the mud holes. At this time an old friend from Illinois appeared. He was a man a little over fifty but hale and hearty. He had seen many ups and downs in life; was now down, and had decided to answer the call of the West and stake his all on the outcome. His was a typical case of thousands who went from the "End of the Track" that spring. I helped him "outfit." First of all he went to Bob Beatty and bought a pair of young oxen. I think he paid two hundred dollars. Then he purchased from Smith & Wisner a Rushford wagon and a Monitor walking plow, yoke and log chains. He planned to carry about 2000 pounds and no more, so everything had to be figured by weight. About 500 feet of lumber was the big item of about 1000 pounds. together with a roll of tar paper and a bundle of lath, bought from Twiford; a sheet iron stove, roof jack and pipe bought from Geo. Barrett, a few cooking utensils, two lariet ropes and picket pins for the oxen, a few nails, hammer, saw, axe and a pair of blankets. Groceries consisted first of all of a large piece of spice roll bacon, and none but the old timers know what this was and they never will forget. It was the real thing in meats for those days. A pound of Arbuckle's coffee, a small bag of beans and prunes, a little flour and oat meal, and a liberal supply of crackers; this with salt and pepper made up the eats. 200 pounds of feed for the oxen and about 50 pounds of wood completed the outfit. We loaded him up in the evening and at daylight he was ready for the start. He opened his pocket book just before leaving and it contained only a little change, possibly five dollars. He had staked his all. I assured him if he struck hard luck to let me know, and I would help him out and a quiver was in his voice as he took my hand and thanked me. "Where are you bound for?" I asked. "West," was his answer. I can never forget how he then stepped up to the left of the nigh ox in line with the yoke. The big whip whirled over their heads. "Up Buck, Up Bright," and they were slowly moving. I watched them out of sight on their way to an unknown destination on the then unsurveyed public domain, which the Indian and Buffalo had so recently left, to spy out a place somewhere "WEST" on which to make a squatters home. Three days and two nights travel brought him to a point now three miles north of the village of Penn in Ramsey County. The country looked good to him, and there he unloaded, set up the frame to his "shack," eight by ten feet, and laid out his land as best he could and plowed a few furrows to get sod for banking the house. His nearest neighbors were James McCormick, John Johnson and All Mitchell, all of whom are still there. After establishing himself, he wrote on a bright board, "This is the squatter's claim of William W. Barrett. Will be back soon." and he started back for more supplies. In after years this man demonstrated that trees could be grown. on the open prairie. He became a state officer, holding the position of State Forestry Commissioner for eleven years; and millions of trees through out our state are silent witness to the efforts of this squatter who had done his bit in the building of the empire. He owned and lived upon this land for thirty-one years. The experience of this man was typical of thousands who started out that spring of 1883 from the "End of the Track" for the Lake Country, Turtle Mountains, and the Mouse River. No Man's Land The current of emigration was WEST; some settlement was filling in South and East, but no one thought of going North. The ideas in the minds of the new comers was to follow Mr. Hill's railroad or to go beyond with the prospect of his coming close to them later on. In fact, Mr. Hill was keeping quiet about the great "No Man's Land" that lay between his road and the Canadian border; he was keeping that for another day, after the great objective was accomplished. But I was curious to know what was up there. One morning in May a friend accompanied me with a horse and buggy into this unsurveyed and wholly uninhabited district lying north of us, where now Brocket, Lawton and Edmore are situated; the early state maps designated the district as "Not in any County" - it was something that no one wanted. It was however, a wonderful journey. We traveled all day and had not seen a human being. It was dark on our return. I recall that the buffalo grass was just showing through the sod that had been burned over as far as the eye could see. There was water in all the low lands. Traveling on, we encountered innumerable buffalo trails, winding around the bases of hills and around the meadows. Buffalo "wallows" were in great evidence - these basins, six to ten feet across, were hollowed out by the buffalos' horns and hoofs. They used to wallow in them to free themselves from flies and vermin. We found the prairie literally strewn with buffalo bones, wherever we travelled and we then realized that we were in buffalo land, the route of their migrations from North to South and South to North again. The bones were evidence of the great slaughters that finally extinguished them in the seventies. We picked up Indian arrow-heads showing the Indian hunters' work, but it was the repeating rifle that brought on the annihilation. Afterwards, as settlers came in, these bones were gathered, hauled in to Bartlett where Geo. Barrett and Geo. Whitney competed for their purchase and thousands of tons were shipped out from there. As we traveled on we observed skimming low over distant hill what seemed to be flock of large birds. It was a curious sight as they followed so closely the crest of the hill. Later we saw them in another direction; they were encircling us when to our delight we came suddenly upon them to find them a large herd of antelope, their tiny legs so fleet that in travel they looked like birds. Curiosity kept them about us wherever we traveled. Coming up a little hill, we met two deer face to face, not a hundred feet away. They stood motionless almost a minute; they saw something perhaps they had never seen before, then bounded away. An elk was spied on a far off hill standing erect and defiantly. Flocks of geese and brant with an occasional flight of sand hill cranes and swan. It seemed like Nature's Game Preserve. We had no guns. We never thought of game when we started. Boy-like we wished we had guns, but I have wondered many times since why we wished to disturb these beautiful wild creatures up there in "No Man's Land." The Freighters Freighting out of "The End of the Track" was the big money for boys with a will to do it with. The railroad did not haul a pound of freight in to Devils Lake until after the fourth of July and still when the road reached there, Devils Lake was a considerable city, and every pound was pulled in by the freighters, hauling out from the "End of the Track". All the materials for "Minnie H," even her machinery, was brought in by them, and the little steamer, "The Arrow," which for years plied the Lake to Fort Totten, was hauled bodily from there. All these things added to the activity that prevailed in the spring of 1883 in Bartlett, the "End of the Track." The Climax Her days were short. Her end was sudden and spectacular; a fitting climax to the wild life she had led for such a brief period of time. One night in the latter part of May, fire broke out in the Baugman Hardware store. There was no fire fighting equipment. The frame buildings stood solidly together and with a brisk wind blowing the flames soon spread and in a very short time the central block was a seething furnace and every building in it burned, except "Sheet Iron" Brown's. It was a wild night in this wild little city. Everything was a loss, with practically no insurance. The saloons, most all being still open, moved their bars out into the open spaces and "business continued as usual" while the town burned. Some little attempt at reconstruction started, and a number of new buildings did go up while the fires were still smoldering, but it was only a few days later that the railroad contractors appeared in force; dirt was again flying on the way to "Creelsburg" and the head of the Lake, and Bartlett, the "End of the Track" was doomed. The transients, the gamblers, and the saloon men beat it at once for pastures new and green, further west. Merchants disposed of stocks as best they could; buildings were torn down, others moved away. The Fargo House, the John Week's Store, the McLaughlin Hardware, and a number of other buildings were moved bodily to Lakota; others went West, and some out on farms. The lumber yards reloaded their stocks and shipped out, the ruin was complete. I passed through there in September following, and the stillness was appalling. I listened for the noise of the early days of spring. It was to be no more. But the thousands who came and went in those brief months will always carry memories of this place which was a gateway to the wonderful opportunities beyond. Travelling down through the journey of life, the Great Empire Builder finally came to the "End of the Track." His associates have fast been following him. The pioneers of '82 and '83 who loaded out from the "End of the Track" in those stirring days, are rapidly disappearing. Those who were in middle life at the time have passed on, and it is only fitting that we who were youngsters in those days should recount as best we can, our recollections of the events incidental to that time, that in the aggregate some record may be left whereby the generations that are to follow may have some conception of what transpired at that time, and learn from the experiences narrated by each of us, what hardships were encountered, what privations endured, and what sacrifices were made by those sturdy settlers who ventured out upon the great public domain to help establish this great heritage we even now enjoy.