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FROM the latest “Border
Telegraph” just to hand I learn that my friend, Alex. Harkin, died at his
house in St Peter’s, Minnesota, in the middle of September. The worthy son
of a worthy father, 1 am proud of the record he had made for himself in the
land of his adoption, and would like to put on record some incidents in his
history known to very few except myself. His father, Barney Harkin, did
little jobs of road-making in the Melrose district, and was an Irishman pure
and simple, but was at the same time looked upon as one of the most upright
and worthy men in the Melrose of sixty years ago. My own acquaintance with
old Barney and his daughter Katie dates back to about 1850, and he was then
one of the pillurs of the little Congregational Church of which I shortly
afterwards became a member. His dialect was a blend of Irish and Border
Scotch, and his fervent prayers for the overthrow of the “strongholds of sin
and Sattan” were unique, to say the least. His two sons, Sandy and Barney,
had gone to the States before I knew old Barney. They went west to Minnesota
fifty years ago, Sandy taking hold at West Newton on the Minnesota River,
where I found them both some twenty-three years ago. Young Barney had been
home in the meantime and got married. The district was at that time reached
mainly by steamboat on the tortuous river, which travelled two or three
miles to make one mile direct, and Sandy started a store on the riverside,
at which he bought gruin from the farmers in the open country behind, and
furs from the Sioux Indians, who lived 011 the other side of the river. Fort
Ilidgeley, a little further up the river, was built mainly with an eye to
controlling this powerful tribe, and I think Barney served some time in the
army at that place. Sandy in due course was made postmaster and a Justice of
the Peace, and was known as Squire Harkin, taking cognizance of petty
offences, such as selling liquor to the Indians, then as now a criminal
offence both there and in Canada.
A few miles down the river was the town of New Ulm, the centre of an almost
purely German settlement. To overreach an Indian in trade or sell him drink
was by too many of these Germans regarded as good business, and it was to
such discreditable tactics that what will there be long known as the “Sioux
Massacre” of 1863 owed its origin. The war between North and South was then
going on, and taking advantage of this opportunity, when the Militia of the
State were far away, the Indians rose and burnt and murdered in a way that
will long be remembered for its ferocity. It was at this point in the
history of the district that the uprightness of Squire Harkin met with
signal recognition from the savage tribes alongside.
There were rumours of trouble before the actual outbreak burst forth in full
fury. One morning there rose a fierce clamour across the river, and Harkin
took his boat across to reconnoitre. The first thing he saw was a woman
fleeing towards him, an infant in her arms, with its head split open by a
tomahawk. Her husband and family had just been murdered by the Indians, and
there was too good reason to dread a general uprising. Squire Harkin’s store
stood in an opeu glade, his house in the shelter of the fine oak timber
around it, and at very short notice a few men and many women and children
gathered round him. With soldierly decision lie abandoned the house,
loop-holed the walls of the store so as to bring hostile visitors within the
range of fire from inside. He dealt in fire-arms and ammunition, and made
the women fill cartridges to be used by the men in defence of their little
stronghold. No Indians appeared, and when night came some of the men crept
out to reconnoitre, but never came back, making for St Peter’s, some twenty
miles away, to save their own lives.
After waiting days for the enemy the Squire started for St Peter’s, and took
his guests there without hostile interruption. Terrible news came in from
every hand, the Indians were wild with bloodshed, but none came in from the
Newton settlement. All round New Ulm the Germans had either been killed or
fled. The Squire finally decided to get out in the direction of his home,
which he reached under cover of night. To his surprise he found his place
unharmed. He stayed in the store all night—there was some rustling in the
bush alongside, but nothing came of it. To his surprise he found next day
the whole of his cattle except two, one of which had been seized by the
garrison at Fort Ridgeley, the other eaten by the Indians. Friendly spies
had noted his return and at once brought in his cattle.
That was, in my opinion, one of the grandest triumphs for “square dealing,”
as we call it here, that I ever knew of. If an Indian brought in a pelt for
sale or was to be paid fees as a witness against a white offender, he was
paid at once in cold cash. There were lots of goods in the store, but he
could either buy them or not. Usually he did buy, but it was of his own free
will, and the smartest man of the tribe could make no better deal than a boy
selling his first catch. I feel pretty certain that if this style of doing
business had been followed with the Indians of the Western States as has
been consistently followed by the agents of the Hudson’s Bay Co. in our
North-West, the Sioux massacre would most likely never have taken place. I
could furnish other cases to prove that Indians are as appreciative of
kindness and fair dealing as the ones I refer to, and am proud that a friend
of my own had the honour to demonstrate as he did that honour and honesty
are the very soundest policy everywhere. |
