Part five of a series
Mysterious and frightening noises at night, a back-and-forth chase with a savage animal and an oversized vegetable were among strange experiences for T. R. Stewart, who as an 11-year-old boy, came with his family to Minnesota Territory in 1853. A half-century later, he wrote about those first few months as one of the first white families to settle in the Caledonia area.
His father sent him and his brother to buy potatoes from two bachelor neighbors, who having arrived a year previous had what Stewart claimed was “quite a field under cultivation” (not far from where the county poor house would later be). Their neighbor, after filling their sack with as many potatoes as he thought they could carry, told the boys to wait a minute. “Running over to where there was a patch of rutabagas, he soon came back with one which he gave us,” recalled Stewart. “It was a monster and looked doubly so to us, who had never seen anything in the turnip line but the small, flat, white variety.” Back home, they found it to weigh 14 pounds. “Doubtless, he had saved it to astonish the newcomers, and he was successful.”
Also, that first autumn, Stewart, his brother and an Irishman were husking corn for those neighbors when the boys saw their first deer. “Our attention was attracted by the baying of a hound, and soon, coming around the turn of the mound… we saw a deer and a hound both coming at full tilt… To repeat the exclamations of our Irish friend “Ouch! Ouch! Look at them! Look at them! What long lapes he takes. Beadad, and don’t the crathurs run, though.”
Soon after constructing their new dwelling, the family heard strange nighttime noises, which were intriguing and sometimes alarming. “Several times that fall, at night,” recounted Stewart, “we heard a peculiar snort, like a smothered whistle, or blow.” They later learned the noise was surely a snort of surprise from a running deer, which unexpectedly encountered a cabin in its path.
During that same autumn, there was another noise that caused a “night of terror.” All of the men in the neighborhood had gone to Brownsville, to vote or register to vote or “something of that nature… They started early in the morning with three yoke of oxen, a wagon, breaking plow, shovels, etc. and worked the worst places in the road as they went along, getting to Brownsville that night.”
With no men at home in the neighborhood, Mrs. Dunbar came over to stay the night and brought with her a large dog, which was not only her companion but also a protector when Mr. Dunbar was away at work. Sometime during that night, the household was awakened by a “fearful scream,” coming from nearby burr oak trees. To Stewart, it sounded like the scream of a woman in distress.
“I know it gave us a terrible scare, fairly raising our hair, coming as it did in the night. The only thing we could imagine it to be was the scream of a crazy squaw. After screaming several times in the first location, it commenced to go farther away, screaming occasionally as it went, over in the direction of the big woods, the sound finally dying away in the distance.”
The new cabin did not yet have a door, the doorway covered partially by a part of a shipping box and a shawl. Window openings were covered with quilts. “There wasn’t much more sleep that night, for we were in mortal fear, expecting every minute to hear that horrible scream again, or have an Indian or squaw stick their head in at the window and yell. I assure you we were all glad when daylight came. We had not dared have a light for fear it might attract the attention of our midnight visitor, whoever it might be.”
The dog, that had been stationed outside, never barked but instead had gone to the opposite side of the cabin and attempted to get inside the house by digging under the bottom log. In the morning, they found the dog had almost buried himself under the house.
When they described the sound, they were told it was a panther, which could have easily have entered through the doorway and as young Stewart surmised, “doubtless, it might have done so had we made any noise to attract its attention.”
His father returned from Brownsville with the windows and lumber for the doors. “After that night’s experience, I assure you all other jobs were put off until the doors and windows were in place.
Stewart, one day as a young hunter, was searching for a flock of prairie chickens he had seen fly over. Instead of those fowl, he encountered an animal, which from a distance appeared to be a large pig. But upon closer inspection, it had fur instead of bristles. “It didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry to get out of my way,” he noted. “As I was pressing it rather close and getting ready to shoot it as I was running, it suddenly wheeled around and came towards me with its mouth wide open, making a noise about halfway between a grunt and a growl and looking quite savage. For a little ways, it chased me instead of my chasing it.”
Since he had only fine shot in his gun, he summoned his brother to join in the hunt. “When we got too close, it would suddenly wheel and come for us with its mouth wide open. As it looked so savage, we, boy-like, would get out of its way so quickly as we could. In one of the wheels, it got so close to me I didn’t have time to turn and run and had to shoot it to avoid being bitten.”
It turned out to be a very large badger, which like a panther was not likely to welcome newcomers as was a neighboring rutabaga farmer.
Source: The Memoirs of T. R. Stewart as published in Caledonia Pride 1854-2004
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