Interview with Albert E. Coryer, 1951

BITTNER: This is Mrs. Florence Bittner, at Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin, February 20, 1951. And this recording is being made by Mr. Coryer, the memory that he has, as told to him by his grandfather, great-grandfather, of early Prairie du Chien, its traditions, its history, and of the people that lived here. Mr. Coryer.

CORYER: I was born in the town of Prairie du Chien on the 31st day of August, 1877. And I was born on the tract of land which my grandfather, Julian Coryer, bought from Uncle Sam at the price of a dollar and a quarter an acre. And he was born, my grandfather was born at Le Baie-du-Febvre, Canada. This Le Baie-du-Febvre, now the name has changed to Bayville. It is located south of the 00:01:00St. Lawrence River between Montreal and Quebec.

My grandfather's ancestors were some of the first French people that landed in Acadia, which later on moved westward along the St. Lawrence, to where my grandfather was born. And at the age of sixteen, my grandfather left Canada. He enlisted, or hired out, to the Hudson Bay Fur Company for a period of four years, and they travelled, as the voyageurs did on their old voyageurs' route, the Hudson Bay Route, finally through the Great Lakes to Green Bay. There, they travelled down the Fox River to Portage. And then at Portage, they made portage, 00:02:00carried everything into the Wisconsin River, the source of the Wisconsin River, and then down to Prairie du Chien, which was the next place between Green Bay and St. Louis. And as my grandfather left the mouth of the Wisconsin, turned northward, the first white person that he noticed on the river bank was an old lady--or a lady, rather, she wasn't so very old at the time--which was the first white woman that came to Prairie du Chien. She was Mrs. Cardinalle. Her and her husband came here--her husband was a fur trader--and he had died, and she was left alone in their cabin, or log hut. She had many dogs to guard her, which caused my grandfather to take notice of her and the place.

Then they worked on up north, travelled on up north, to the fur trading posts, which were located along the river bank near the Villa Louis. My grandfather said that at that time, there were very few people located in the city of Prairie du Chien. All there was was those few along the river bank, the fur traders and a few other settlers, and then a few settlers along the east side of the slough, which forms an island between the river and the slough, and which is part of Prairie du Chien. And then from there, from the trading posts here at 00:04:00Prairie du Chien, the Hudson Bay Fur Company went on down south to St. Louis. And there they prepared things, rafts--or, barges, rather--that they would row by hand, by manpower, they were rowed up the Missouri River, way up to the forts at the source of the Missouri River. These goods were unloaded there and put in these forts, and from there was transported to other forts westward by horses or caravans of ponies, which were trained to do that work. Two men operated forty ponies, and this was kept up during the time that my grandfather was working for the Hudson Bay Fur Company. After serving the first four years, he enlisted for another four years, and thereby worked eight years for the Hudson Bay Fur Company. Being tired of this life, he thought he'd settle down, and he bought 00:05:00the forty acres of land in what is now part of the city of St. Louis, and built a log house on it, and just as he was about to start farming, the Blackhawk War broke out, and they wanted volunteers to serve in this war. So my grandfather, being quite acquainted, and had been amongst the Indians very much, enlisted and served all through the Blackhawk War. After the Blackhawk War was over, he got his discharge, he returned to St. Louis. In a short time he met his wife, Lucretia Coryer--or, Lucretia Lethard, rather--and they were married in the old cathedral in St. Louis.

And shortly after they were married, the terrible cholera epidemic happened in 00:06:00St. Louis and people died by the thousands. But they were blessed they didn't get this cholera, and they said, "Now, since we were blessed in not having this and dying, we're going to work our way north and get away from those southern diseases." And they worked their way to Dubuque, and there he painted, which he'd learnt the trade of painting with his father, by helping his father while he was in Canada. And later on, this didn't agree with my grandfather's health, decorating inside. He heard they needed help at the mines at Galena, which were then opening up, and they wanted a man and wife, the man to help work in the melter where they melted the mineral, and the wife to prepare the meals for the men that worked there. So they moved there and took this job. They worked there 00:07:00awhile, and then later on Mrs. Coryer's--my grandmother's--two brothers, John and Frank Lethard, had come from St. Louis on up with a man which trained broncos, or wild horses, tamed them down, trained them, and brought them up towards the north, to the north as far as Prairie du Chien, and sold them to settlers. And they were so taken up with the country about Prairie du Chien they stayed here, and then they came down to Galena, and they urged my grandfather and grandmother to come up and buy government land, which sold for a dollar and a quarter an acre, and farm instead of working in those mines, or at the mines, which they did. And this was about in the year 1840, and five years, about five years after they were here, my father, Joseph Coryer, was born, 1845, the 19th 00:08:00of September.

And then shortly after my grandfather had settled there, his brother-in-law, Frank Gokey, also settled north of him, on the section north of him. They settled, of course, on those hills. The reason why was they had wonderful water, spring water to depend on, and also timber, which they used for building and fuel, and also for fences, because all the fence material they had at the time was rails, rail fences. And that is the reason why those settlers settled up on the hills instead of settling down in the valley.

Later on, as my grandfather had his land settled and buildings built, it was a 00:09:00very cold day in the wintertime, and he'd hewn out the parts for a sleigh, and he had brought these parts in the house, 'cause it was so cold to do this outside, he brought them in the house--and he was doing this and they heard sleighbells at the door. On looking out, they noticed it was Mr. Dousman that had come up from the Villa Louis. Which Mr. Dousman and my grandfather had got acquainted in St. Louis. They both worked for the Hudson Bay Fur Company at the time, and they were acquainted from there on. Mr. Dousman came in, and my folks welcomed him, after tying his horse and blanketing his horse, and also carried in a wonderful robe, which had been given to him by the Indians. This robe was 00:10:00really a buffalo robe, lined with fine buckskin, and worked with beads, the forms of animals and birds had been worked on this buckskin by the Indians. My grandfather--my father, which was only four years old at the time, spent the time that Mr. Dousman was talking with my grandfather admiring this wonderful robe. And after Mr. Dousman had warmed his hands, he speaks, and after my folks and him had had their little few words of introduction to one another, and also congratulated one another, he started to tell my grandfather the reasons why he came up.

And he says to my grandfather, he says, "Well, Julian, I came up to tell you something that probably won't please you very well. I see you are building a 00:11:00sleigh. You must intend to stay here, make it your home." "Why yes, I am," Julian says, "this is my home." "Well, you will have to either move away or pay me rent, because I have bought this piece of land, and you have to pay me rent or move off before long." This angered my grandfather very much, and he says to Mr. Dousman, "Now, Dousman, I always respected you and regarded you as my best friend, and now you come here and talk and act like that, after taking this land, which is my home, away from me, and I feel I'd like to let you out of his house looking as well as you did before you came in." And Mr. Dousman realized he had gone far enough, and he started to laugh, and said to my grandfather, "Now, Julian, I sure like to hear you talk that way. I realize you still have 00:12:00the fighting spirit in you. Now I'm going to really tell you what I came up here for. I came up here to help you save your land. You'll soon lose it if you don't have it entered, because there's two foreigners, two Frenchmen, that are going to have it entered. I was down at the local land office in the old Perry Gentile Building, and they said that they were going to take up, or have these two tracts, which you and Gokey are on, entered soon, and now you'll have to go as soon as possible and have it entered."

Now my grandfather says, "Yes, Mr. Dousman. I'm sorry that I spoke as I did awhile ago. I got angry, but pardon me. I'm sorry that I spoke as I did. I see 00:13:00you really are my friend. But I'm sorry to say that I haven't the money, or Gokey hasn't the money either, to have this land entered." So Mr. Dousman spoke up and said, "I have the money, and I'll loan it to you, and I have your credentials and the descriptions of your land, so that you can just go ahead with the whole thing. Now you get your horse and get Gokey, and ride down with me. You and Gokey ride down, and lead your horse at the back of my cutter, and ride down with me, and as I take my horse out of the harness, you put your horse in and go on to Mineral Point, to the United States land office, and have your land entered. Don't lose any time." This was done. And they travelled as fast as they could, but night overtook them on the way to Mineral Point, which was quite a distance in the deep snow, and it was very cold. And the wolves, a pack of wolves attacked at them different times during the night. One would beat the 00:14:00wolves away with a long pole, while the other drove the horse. They finally reached Mineral Point in the morning, just shortly before the clerk was about to go in the land office. They blanketed their horse and went to the land office right away, and they waited for the clerk. And as soon as he came and unlocked the door, they entered and put their money and the description of the land on his desk so he could fix up their deeds, which he did. He made those deeds out on a sort of thin leather. It was a very fine leather. I remember the deed, but am sorry to say that it has been lost.

Anyhow, after this was all done and they were about to go out, these two Frenchmen came in, and they presented the same, of course, description of lands that my grandfather and Gokey had, to be entered. And the clerk told them, "I'm 00:15:00sorry, but those two gentlemen just had this land entered and you're too late." "Now, didn't I tell you you should hurry more, we should hurry more and got here sooner? See, we've lost out by not hurrying." Those men didn't realize that Mr. Gokey and my grandfather were also French, and understood the French language. But by following Mr. Dousman's advice, and also Mr. Dousman helping them out by loaning them money and fixing them up the way he did, they both saved their homes.

BITTNER: Are there any other stories of Mr. Dousman that perhaps would be interesting?

CORYER: Yes, I must say that Mr. Dousman was very kind, and willing to help the old settlers, and also very forgiving if ever the settlers would trespass on his 00:16:00land, or do anything that wasn't just as it should be about his property.

Now, for one thing there was, he owned the mill coulee, and also owned the creek, which runs down this coulee, and there was much trout in this creek. The settlers' boys would go down there occasionally during the summer and catch trout, and Mr. Dousman realized that they were apt to do that, so they would sneak up on them, catch the boys doing this, and he'd say, "Now, boys, I've caught you taking my trout. Now you'll have to give me that trout you've caught (which, no doubt, they had several of them)--Now, you go home and leave my trout alone. This is my creek and my trout." "Yes, Mr. Dousman, we're sorry. Yes, we'll do that, Mr. Dousman." And the boys would leave and go on towards home for a short distance, then stop and watch Mr. Dousman disappear, go back and catch 00:17:00whatever trout they needed for themselves, and go home and have their trout. And that happened many a time.

And then another thing was, the lines of the different sections of land weren't very well established, and the old settlers sometimes would overreach, and go over on Dousman's and chop wood, cord wood, four feet long, of course, which they sold to the boats. The boats at that time used wood for fueling their boilers and these old settlers sold their wood there. Well, Mr. Dousman would catch them cutting wood on his land, and he'd go to them and he'd say, "Well, I see you've been cutting wood on my land." "Well, yes, I've cut wood there, but that's on my land, isn't it, Mr. Dousman? That can't be on your land." "Oh, no, 00:18:00you're on my land." "Well, I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was cutting on your land, Mr. Dousman." "Well, I'll have that," Mr. Dousman would say, "I'll have that wood hauled home. I need fuel too. And you'll have to cut some more and cut it on your own land." "Well, now, Mr. Dousman, I have to have that money. I have to have it soon, too, because it's about time that I should haul it, before the roads break up, the sleighing plays out. I've got to have that money for taxes and other things that I need, for buying clothing for my children, and also other things about the house. I'm sorry, I can't very well spare that wood. Can't you let me have it?" "Well, yes, you take the wood this time. Don't you cut any more now. Be sure and don't cut any more wood on my land." "All right, Mr. Dousman, I'll do that. I'll be careful." And in a short time the thing was repeated again and again, but Mr. Dousman was always willing to forgive and never punish.

At the same time, Mr. Dousman was very willing to help at his parish, help the church. The parishioners, of course, was mostly made up of old settlers, which didn't have money, and the parish occasionally would get behind, get in a bad financial condition, and then Mr. Dousman and Mr. John Rohrer also would step in, when the priest would announce it that the parish was in bad condition, financial condition, and they'd furnish him the money and get the parish back in a good financial condition. And that's the kind of a man Mr. Dousman was.

Finally, Mr. Dousman died, and Mrs. Dousman, Madam Dousman, notified my grandfather. Of course, she realized that my grandfather would want to come down 00:20:00and pay Mr. Dousman a visit to respect--which he did. He brought his son Joseph along, my father, which at the time was around fourteen years old. They, of course, drove up to the Villa Louis, tied their horse to a hitching post. And there was many Indians standing at the gate, waiting for Mr. Dousman to welcome them up to the house, which was Mr. Dousman's way: when the Indians came, he would beckon them to come up to the house. They would never go up to the house unless he did so. My grandfather asked the Indians if they wanted to see Mr. Dousman. They said yes, that's what they came for. "But, you can't see him anymore. He's dead. You can see his corpse, but you can't talk to him anymore, he's dead." And the Indians were so mortified, and they must have had a way that 00:21:00they realized what they should do when any such thing was mentioned. They all slapped their hands over their mouths. And then as soon as they got their hand off, in a wailing way, said [speaking in Ojibwe] which meant, "Our lord is no more."

BITTNER: That's very interesting, Mr. Coryer. Mr. Dousman was quite a friend of the Indians, wasn't he, in many ways?

CORYER: Yes, he was, he was very friendly to them, and the Indians respected him very much at all times. He never had any trouble with them--with his dealings as a fur trader, and also as an agent of distributing the money to the Indians for the lands which the government had bought of the Indians.

BITTNER: And through his efforts and through his words, perhaps, he avoided a lot of trouble and confusion that might have been caused if the Indians--if he was not able to satisfy them--

CORYER: Yes, he did. Because, of course, the Indians had been beat, and at times the whites had, well, did the Indians' dirty work. And they sort of were aware of those men, and if Mr. Dousman hadn't have done as he did, been honest and upright to them, why, they sure wouldn't have been friendly with him.

BITTNER: I see.

CORYER: Now, this land that Mr. Dousman owned was previously owned by Mr. Rolette, and Mr. Dousman had been Mr. Rolette's secretary for several years, and after Mr. Rolette's death, Mr. Dousman married his widow, and, of course, then 00:23:00this land--the title had been turned over to Dousman. This was considered Dousman's estate. And before this, Mr. Rolette getting this land--it was first entered from the government by a man, the name of Fisher. Mr. Rolette married Mr. Fisher's daughter, and thereby he became the owner some way of this mill coulee land, and the creek still bears the name of Fisher Creek. It's on record in all game records, all game law records as Fisher Creek. And this creek was also used as a--for running a flour mill. Mr. William Mosher built a flour mill about a quarter of a mile from the mouth of the coulee, and then built a dam up 00:24:00the coulee about another quarter of a mile, and then the mill race from the dam to the mill, and used this water, this power, for running his mill. And he made good flour, and it was a good mill for the times. Still, it wasn't a paying proposition. There wasn't enough around, enough settlers around to make it a paying proposition, and finally Mr. Mosher built a mill over at Marquette, Iowa. And this mill at Marquette, Iowa, was a much more paying proposition. Also, when it comes back to Mr. Dousman owning the lands, he--later on, the Dousmans later 00:25:00on bought the Camel Coulee, and also owned the Camel Coulee, which was a very good tract of land. Thereby, the Dousmans owned much of the land about Prairie du Chien.

BITTNER: Is there any other mills or industries, that took place about that time, Mr. Coryer? And would you tell me about the brickyard? I am very much interested in the brickyard that you told me about.

CORYER: Well, one spring morning, as my grandfather and his family were about to sit at their noon meal, an old Frenchman came in by the name of Lanee, L-A-N-double E, and introduced himself and asked my grandfather if he wouldn't 00:26:00let him get, take a sample of his subsoil that he had on his place to see whether it was fit for making brick, that he was a brick maker--that was his trade--he had made brick in France. And my grandfather welcomed him, had him eat dinner with him, and welcomed him to look the soil over and see whether it was fit for a brickyard, which he soon found out by analyzing the subsoil, that it was fit for making brick, and he established a brickyard there. The first batch of bricks was mixed by getting, first by getting plenty of water there handy, and a few bushels of shelled corn, and then getting several hogs. He had no other way of mixing this mortar, or subsoil. And he spaded it up about eighteen 00:27:00inches deep, loosened it up, and then scattered the corn in there and scattered water and turned the hogs in there. By them rooting around after the corn, they mixed this to a good mortar. He had it all ready--after this was all well mixed--he drove the hogs back where they belonged, and he had already forms made for making brick, and he used this mud and dried the bricks, and then made a kiln, or oven, for cooking the brick, and then inside he piled the brick, filled the oven with, of course, the bricks before they had been baked. Then he started a strong, a big fire, a very hot fire, and baked those bricks. And they really did make good bricks. He made thousands of them and they were sold. Several of the main buildings in Prairie du Chien which are now standing are made of those 00:28:00bricks. The Dousman Block, and also the creamery building, are made of those bricks, and also other buildings throughout Prairie du Chien. And there's two buildings at Frenchtown, the only two brick buildings in Frenchtown are made of this brick. And other buildings also. Then later on, they started another brickyard at Nickerson's, which, of course, sort of run Mr. Lanee out, and he quit making brick and bought himself a tract of land and went farming.

BITTNER: Could you give me about the dates on that brickyard, Mr. Coryer? Do you remember--

CORYER: Yes, that would be--my father was fourteen years old at that time, and he was born in 1845, so that would make it just about 1859.

BITTNER: I see. And how did they transport this brick from up on the farm down into the town?

CORYER: With horses and wagons. They considered 1,000 bricks a load. My father 00:29:00and grandfather each had a team, and they hauled those with wagons, in wagon boxes.

BITTNER: And up on the old farm we can still find the old kiln, can we not?

CORYER: Yes, you can.

BITTNER: Buried under the soil.

CORYER: There are traces of it, yes.

BITTNER: I see.

[tape ends]

BITTNER: I believe it would be rather interesting, Mr. Coryer, for you to tell a number of little incidences that you have told me at various times, particularly about the French people, their social life and some of the things that happened in those days. Their celebration of New Year's. Is there something that you could tell us on that?

CORYER: Well, the old settlers, French settlers were a humble class of people. They didn't try to accomplish very much, but they always had in mind of being generous and friendly to one another, and enjoy themselves. They would help one 00:30:00another whenever it was needed, in case one would get sort of handicapped some way through sickness or hard luck of some kind, get backwards with their work, why, the others would all pitch in and help them. They called this making a bee, getting together, working together. And they would all get together and fix whatever work was, should be done so that the other man would be up with his work, compared to what the others were. And also the womenfolks, if the woman [unintelligible] of the household would happen to be sick and get backwards with her work and needed help, the women of the neighborhood would all come and help her and get her back to where she should be with her work.

And also, as far as enjoying themselves, they were a class of people that tried 00:31:00to be together as much as they could. They enjoyed one another's company, and they would get together especially during the holidays, from New Year's to Ash Wednesday was really that time when they enjoyed themselves the most. They had more time then, of course, because they didn't have to be out in the fields or doing so much work outside, and they could spend more time in trying to enjoy themselves. They would start on New Year's Day, generally, by going to the oldest of the neighborhood, or family, and have dinner with them, and then from there, in the evening, would probably go to another older couple, or a house where the people had been living there the longest, and enjoy themselves during the evening. And from New Year's, then, two or three times a night--or, a week, 00:32:00two or three times a week, they would get together and enjoy themselves by having dances, and songs, and playing cards. The young people would dance, and the older women would get in a room and talk and play cards, and the men, some of them, would get together and sing songs. And to keep themselves up in the right spirit, they would have a little alcohol, which was their main drink. They'd dilute it. They had pure grain alcohol and dilute it, half water, and I never saw any of them drunk, they would just merely take enough so that it would give them pep, so that they could enjoy themselves. And they'd, about twelve o'clock, they would have a real meal, with nothing missing, you might say. It was a real feast. And after they had all ate their fill, they would spend their 00:33:00time from then till two or three o'clock in the morning enjoying themselves: dancing, playing cards, and talking and visiting with one another.

They wouldn't only have the old people there, they would bring their children. The children were brought in the old fashioned wagon boxes, or the box sleighs. The box had hay in the bottom, and then they would put blankets on this hay, and the kids would line up along the edge of the box, their backs along the sides, and then they were covered with other blankets, and they were taken back and forth in that way. None of them seemed to get sick or catch cold from doing this.

And Ash Wednesday, all this was stopped, and the time of Lent began, and they'd devote their time as they should during Lent. As far as wanting to accomplish 00:34:00very much, as far as personal gains, or laying aside much wealth, it seems none of them tried to do that. They didn't seem to care to do that. All they wanted to do was just live along, have a good time, and not worry. That was the way the old timers wanted to live, or seemed to be inclined to live.

BITTNER: In other words, the French, in those days, lived for the good that they could get out of life rather than for material gains.

CORYER: That's right.

BITTNER: Their songs, there has been quite a bit told about the songs of the early French. We have had recordings of some of the early songs that have been brought into Prairie du Chien by the old French fur traders and voyageurs. Many of these are the original songs, are they not?

CORYER: Yes, they are.

BITTNER: And the French enjoyed singing a great deal in those meetings and their gatherings.

CORYER: They sure could sing, too. The ladies even--goes without saying, the ladies would get in a room and they'd have their songs, and sing their songs, 00:35:00enjoy themselves that way.

BITTNER: Perhaps they were quite different than the men.

CORYER: They were great people for singing. Of course, the men was more--they had what they called drinking songs. They wouldn't overdrink, as I told you, none of them would get drunk, but they called them drinking songs because they'd have their occasional little toddy, you know, as they sang.

BITTNER: I see.

CORYER: This is one--just a, sort of a few words of one of the songs.

[singing in French]

This is the English of it: "The Canadians are no fools. They would never leave without having another little drink."

BITTNER: I have been very much interested in the story of the French and their manner of living, their social life, and their object in their life that they aimed for. The houses, the old French houses, up in Frenchtown, that we're going 00:36:00to discuss later on, are rather interesting. The Wattle and Dowd houses--are some still in existence up there?

CORYER: There are still two, and I think probably three, of the old houses still there, or part of them, anyhow.

BITTNER: You remember them quite well, don't you, Mr. Coryer?

CORYER: Oh, yeah.

BITTNER: Could you tell me how they were constructed?

CORYER: Well, they were all of home material, that is, material that they got out of the woods themselves, parts of trees that they'd hew out and then mortise them together. The studding weren't as close together as the studding are nowadays, they'd have them about three feet apart. And then the other pieces that they would put between these studding, which was filled with the smaller pieces, were mortised in the sides of those studding, were about three feet long. They'd fill this space between those parts that laid horizontally with the 00:37:00old clay subsoil from the hills, yellow clay, and daubed in there, mudded in there. And then the outside was covered by wide boards. At that time, the lumber they got was very good, and they had large trees, and the boards, many of them were as wide as sixteen inches, which left very few cracks. They were laid on in a perpendicular way, up and down, and then they had strips that they nailed over the cracks. That was to prevent the rain or water from washing away this clay, this mortar that they laid between the parts of the wood they had between the studding. And then the inside was plastered real smooth with clay also, and then 00:38:00whitewashed with lime, which made a very nice, white wall, but of course had to be whitewashed about twice a year.

BITTNER: And these buildings were warm?

CORYER: Yes, they were, very warm.

BITTNER: And the floors were what?

CORYER: They were of six-inch lumber, mostly. Just the plain white pine six-inch lumber.

BITTNER: And your shingles, or roofing?

CORYER: Well, the very first shingles were what they called a thatch roof, were made right at home. They were made out of oak. They'd saw oak blocks, that is, take large trees and saw them eighteen inches long, the blocks. And then they had a sort of a chisel, a knife-fashioned chisel, and they'd lay this chisel on the block and split those shingles so that they could lay them on the roof, as you do shingles, which they call the thatch roof, I believe, the old-fashioned 00:39:00thatched roof.

BITTNER: How were they fastened down?

CORYER: With nails.

BITTNER: With nails?

CORYER: Yes. The old, square nails. There was no such thing as a wire nail, or--they were all square nails those days.

BITTNER: The French had a cemetery that was located, and still located, up in what is called Frenchtown at Prairie du Chien. There are two. One is the old French cemetery, and the other one, of course is the later, or the Calvary Cemetery.

CORYER: Yes, the old French cemetery is filled with the bodies of all the first old settlers that died here. It's really full. That's the reason why they established the other cemetery across the road. Mr. Dousman gave the land for them to establish the other cemetery, because this was full. There is very little markers there. There is a few plain rocks that mark some of the graves, and then the cavities in the ground, where it's caved in. That's all that marks the graves. And then there is one wooden enclosure, a Mrs. Alexander Garbitee, 00:40:00which still is there, has been there as long as I can remember. And then there's the two tombs, one of Mr. Rolette--well, first, his daughter was buried there, and then later Mr. Rolette--on the west end of the cemetery. And the settlers fenced this with rock, just plain rock that they got in the hills. It had a pile three feet at the bottom, and then brought up to a peak. This was to prevent the cattle and horses from trampling on the graves.

Finally, in about 1890, or such as that, the boys from town would go up around there, and they would notice rabbits running under these rocks, and then would start tearing down this fence. And then later on, others that needed rocks for building walls would go up there and help themselves, and now there is hardly 00:41:00any sign of this rock wall.

BITTNER: You told me a story that your grandfather had told about the burials that took place in the early days in the old Frenchtown cemetery. I wonder if you'd tell me that again, Mr. Coryer.

CORYER: About the--

BITTNER: When the Indians used to come and visit the cemetery.

CORYER: Oh yes, that was when they'd say Mass, the missionaries would stop here at Prairie du Chien. The first Catholic priests that came in the valley here were missionaries from St. Louis, well, at first to Prairie du Chien, and then later on they went on up to St. Paul. They'd, well, come by Prairie du Chien about once a month. They had no church at the time. That was before the St. Gabriel's Church was built. In the summertime, they would say Mass up in the old French cemetery under a large tree, elm tree. The tree wasn't so large then, 00:42:00which is now very large. The Indians were most generally camped around this cemetery, which no doubt would understand and know that this priest was coming. When they'd notice the priest come and set up his temporary altar to say Mass, they would all come in, file in as they should, and listen and observe the saying of the Mass as they should, very respectful, and then go away the same way after Mass was over. And my grandmother said that they seemed to realize what was going on very much, by their actions.

BITTNER: You speak of the church, and of the early days--one of the things that ought to tie into this is the story of the pigeons, the passenger pigeons. I 00:43:00wish that you could tell us from the beginning the story of the pigeons from the time they would come in the spring, until they left in the fall, and what eventually happened, and what is the old Prairie du Chien story of how the pigeons came to disappear from the face of this country.

CORYER: When the first white men came here, the pigeons were here by the millions. There were so many of them that at times, when they emigrated from the south going north in the spring of the year, the flocks would reach from the Iowa hills to the Wisconsin hills, and as far north and south as one could see. And those flocks were so dense that on a bright, sunny day, they would form a shadow, the same as if a cloud was going over. This was a few of those very large flocks, and then later on, as time went on, and the spring passed on, they 00:44:00would come up in narrower, smaller flocks, but long. And then they would go over the hilltops. They wouldn't fly from one hilltop to another, but scoop down into the coulee and then up on the other side, just barely missing the tops of the trees and the hazelbrush.

When the settlers first came here, those hills weren't covered with this second-growth timber. There was large trees here and there, and then in between those trees, there was much hazelbrush and also this prairie hay, a very nutritious kind of hay that grew there. And those pigeons would just barely miss all this. My grandmother often told me that when she wanted pigeon, she would never bother the menfolks by having them get pigeons for her. She would just get 00:45:00herself a good, long pole, a slim pole that she could handle, and go up on the end of one of those hills, wherever those pigeons were coming through--she knew where they'd come--and stand amongst the hazelbrush, and as they'd go over, she would slash into the flock with her pole. She'd get them, in just a few slashes, she'd get all the pigeons she wanted for a meal. They'd also, the settlers would also salt them down, or pickle them down for the winter. They'd make nets out of strings, compared to a fish net, and fasten them to a frame, and then they'd pick out a clean spot, scatter grain there, and put this net, set this net there with a stick under one end, and it wouldn't be long before the pigeons would know where this grain was, and they'd come there by the thousands. And they'd have a string, of course, from this stick out to where they could hide somewhere, in the hazelbrush or something like that, and when the net was filled 00:46:00with pigeons, they'd just pull the stick and they'd have dozens of pigeons under this net. And they'd go around and break the necks of the pigeons. They wouldn't stop and pick them, picking the feathers off, they would merely skin them and keep the meaty parts, the breasts and legs of the pigeons, salt them down for winter, so they had pigeons for the winter.

And then these pigeons got to be a nuisance. They were very nice as far as game or food, but they got to be a real nuisance when the farmers--or, the settlers came here and started to farm, they had no seeders or drills to sow grain, they had to sow their grain by hand, scatter it by hand. And those pigeons would come, there were so many of them that they wouldn't have time to drag this grain in. When I say drag, that is, before the pigeons would get it. The pigeons would pick it up before they had time to drag it in. These drags were made of wood, 00:47:00V-shape, and the teeth even, or the parts that run down into the ground, were made of hickory so that they wouldn't break so easy. They were pulled by oxen, a yoke of oxen. Of course, this was all slow, and it gave the pigeons much time to eat this wheat or grain that they were sowing.

And then later on, my father--my grandfather had my father with him when my father was just barely big enough to lift the gun and pull the trigger. He'd load the gun very light and have my father stand by the patch of ground that he was sowing, and he'd tell my father, "Now, if you see pigeons about to light, why, shoot--pull the trigger." And this would scare the pigeons away, the shot of the gun would scare the pigeons away, and give my grandfather time to recover his wheat. And in the fall, when the wheat got ripe, the pigeons came from the 00:48:00north again, they would just about destroy the crops before they could get it harvested and put in stacks or barns. So they began to complain very much about the pigeons, and the pastors of the church--churches, rather--all through the valley and the eastern part of the United States got together and talked the thing over, and decided that they could take a novena and drive those pigeons out of the country. They thought it would be right as long as the settlers wanted it that way, which they did. They made a novena, the novena of the nine-day prayer, or nine-day way of devotion with prayer, and hearing Mass every morning. And the settlers were so devout and were so bound to get the pigeons driven away from here--this was in the last part of March in about 1862 that 00:49:00this happened, during the 1860s--the farmers got so that they couldn't travel with horses or oxen anymore, the roads got so muddy. They'd walk, even walk ten miles every morning, and they finally made the novena as they should, and in about two years there was hardly any pigeons left. The first year even, they, of course, were exiled, what they called exiled them, meaning they were to go out to some other country across the waters. And the pigeons all went to the Atlantic Ocean and tried to fly across the ocean, and many of them fell in. The tide would bring them in on shore in real windrows, and the farmers along the East Coast would haul them on their land and plow them under for fertilizer. Now, that's the way most of them went away. There were a few scattering flocks 00:50:00that remained for several years afterwards, but they were very few and didn't do any damage. That's the way the pigeons were sent away, and they are supposed to return in 99 years. They were exiled for 99 years and they are supposed to return in 99 years, from 1862, you see.

BITTNER: You spoke of having seen some of these pigeons.

CORYER: I just saw two. When I was eight years old, my father and I was hunting out towards Eastman, and we were hunting partridges. My father--I was following my father along in the woods--my father says to me, he says, "There's two pigeons. I'm going to shoot them for you. You've never ate any pigeons or saw one, so I'm going to shoot them for you." And he shot and got the two pigeons. There was a male and a female, a pair. So I've seen the pigeon and tasted--the meat tastes very much like the tame pigeon or turtle dove that we have around 00:51:00now. They were a grayish-blue color, and most of them, excepting their breast. The breast was a sort of orange-red, the males especially. The females weren't as bright. They were more of a yellowish color. And they had real nice pink eyes and red feet. They were very pretty. And a very long tail. Their body was much longer compared to their weight than a tame pigeon is. Their tail is fully as long as the body and come to a peak. The middle feather was the longest. Arrow-shaped, the end of the tail was.

BITTNER: So we expect to see the pigeons in not too long a time, don't we?

CORYER: 99 years from 1862.

BITTNER: The story of the raising of pigs and beef was always interesting 00:52:00whenever you told it, Mr. Coryer, and I wonder if you could tell us something about that--why it was started.

CORYER: Well, the first way that the settlers had of selling their meat, the beef and pork, which was mostly pork. There was very little beef raised, because it seems that the settlers didn't care to raise cattle. They weren't prepared to house them in the winter. They had no barns, and they didn't have the ways of housing them, and so they didn't raise many cattle. They just kept a few cows, and what male animals were kept over were used as oxen, so there wasn't much beef raised, but very much pork. Because they used to sell this pork to the men 00:53:00that--lumber men that came down from the north. The old-timers used to call them the "silk-hats." They all wore those high silk hats and a black silk handkerchief around their neck, and long black coats, dressed, of course, as the wealthy men did in the cities at that time. And the old-timers called them "silk-hats." "We'll have to get our hogs ready." As, late in the fall or early in the winter, they'd start, of course, getting their hogs ready for butchering. As soon as the river got frozen strong enough, the ice was strong enough, then they'd butcher their hogs, and they'd haul them north, to the lumber woods. They'd go up the river, about forty teams at once, loaded with pork. They would 00:54:00line up and had men ahead of the teams with axes to test the ice, so that the teams wouldn't break through, and every ten minutes the head team would pull out and the next team would take the lead, and the head team would drop in back, so that would rest the teams, because of course there were no roads tracked--deep snow--and that's the way they got their meat up to the north woods for lumbering at the time. And all they were paid for this pork by those lumbermen was about two cents a pound for dressed hogs.

Of course, those hogs didn't cost them so very much. They were raised very easy because they'd just keep over, their brood sows over the winter. And then in the 00:55:00spring of the year after the water would recede, the high water from the Mississippi River bottoms, they'd take those old sows there with their pigs, and just leave them there, and they'd get their own living, rooting up roots and eating clams and frogs and such as that, and weeds. They'd raise nice pigs. Then in the fall of the year--well, to begin with, they'd mark those sows. Each man had his mark on the sow. One would have a hole cut in the right ear, another one would have a hole cut in the left ear, another one would probably have a V-shaped notch cut in the end of the ear, or two V's, and so on. They'd mark those sows. But whatever pigs followed the sows in the fall of the year was 00:56:00included--or, was considered as this sow's pigs, and occasionally some men would take five or six sows there in the islands and probably just have a dozen pigs in the fall because there was a few pigs following their sows. But that was the only way they could tell. They couldn't do it any different. And then another one would have only one sow, and she'd probably have twenty pigs following her. But that was the way they did. And in the fall, they would round them all up and bring them home, and feed them grain for a while, and then butcher them, and they were sold to those lumbermen. So they didn't feed much grain, and they weren't much expense to them.

BITTNER: So that's the way the raising of hogs, and beef, started here, in Prairie du Chien.

CORYER: Yes.

BITTNER: And, of course, everything carried up to the men in the north part. The story of the Indians, I imagine there's quite a few Indian stories. There is one 00:57:00you tell that I am very much interested in, of the Indians coming down, travelling south and stopping at the home of your mother?

CORYER: Grandmother.

BITTNER: Grandmother and grandfather.

CORYER: My father was, at the time, about three years old when this happened. He was born in 1845, and this was about 1848 that this happened. My grandfather had gone to Gays Mills with a grist of wheat to have ground to flour. It was early in the winter, after the first snow. He waited, of course. He would rather go with a sleigh, because the wagons they had then were very hard on the oxen, and it was much easier to go there with a sleigh. They could make it quicker and easier. As soon as they get a good sleigh, they'd go. And he went, and left my grandmother and my father in the care of an old gentleman, by the name of Joseph Drew. And Mr. Drew, of course, was outside taking care of the chores one 00:58:00evening, that is the evening after my grandfather had left, and he came in and says to my grandmother, he says, "Mrs. Coryer," he says, "you're going to have a lot of visitors. There's a tribe of Indians coming over the ridge our way." And my grandmother looked out, and sure enough, there they were coming, hundreds of them. And she says, "Now, Joe (Joe could speak Indian--the Indian language, Joe could speak the Indian language, and so he got along with them very well)," and she says, "Now Joe," she says, "you be kind to them and try and help them out with whatever they want, if they stop here. Don't get them angry. 'Cause we don't want them to kill us." Joe said, "I'll get along with them." So the Indians did come at the house and asked if they could camp there, take water from the spring, and also use the hay from the stack. They had a few stacks of 00:59:00hay, of course, Julian had made for his oxen. And they wanted this hay to feed their ponies, and also to put on the ground after they'd scraped the snow away and built their tepees over the spot, they wanted hay to lay on the ground to lay on for their beds, and--

[end of tape 1]

[start of tape 2]

CORYER: When the Indians had put up their tepees and got their hay in ready for their beds during the night, of course the next thing was to get their meal ready. They started their fires and their kettles, or rather their baskets--heating the water with stones, they'd heat stones and then drop the hot stones into the baskets to heat their water. They came in and asked if they had 01:00:00any potatoes that they could have. My grandmother welcomed them to the potatoes, and it so happened they had plenty of them. Their cellar was full of potatoes. So they'd come in with baskets, which held approximately a half a bushel, and for every half a bushel of potatoes they'd take away, they'd bring back a quarter of a venison. My grandmother didn't expect that much, so she started putting them into a corner of the kitchen, and by the time they had gotten all the potatoes they wanted to eat, she had quite a stack of venison, because they ate many bushels of potatoes. They were very fond of potatoes. And then the squaws, of course, that had very young children, couldn't very well sleep out there, so they asked my grandmother if they couldn't come in the house with the 01:01:00small children. My grandmother welcomed them, and they all came in there, several of them, and there was many, many squaws and children, babies. The babies, of course, had been out in the cold and were chilled, and when they come in the house for a little while, they no doubt--[clears throat] pardon me--they no doubt would start aching from the cold, and they'd start crying. She said it was quite a band, the noise from all those papooses crying at the same time, but their mothers, the mother squaws would take them out on the porch and toss them up and down in the cold, with, you might say, just shorts on, practically naked, and just in a few seconds the babies would stop crying, and they'd come back in 01:02:00and lay them down, and they'd all fall asleep.

And then, the thing there was for my grandmother to do was to get a meal ready for all those women, the squaws. Well, she did the best she could, and she did enough so that they all had enough to eat. And then the next morning, when they were ready to go, the squaws all wanted to show how much they appreciated what my grandmother did for them, they all put a string of beads around my grandfather's--or, my father, rather, his neck. Of course, he was just about three years old then, and my grandmother said they just about loaded this little fellow down so he couldn't hardly hold the beads up. His neck was loaded with beads. And they all went away satisfied, as soon as the sun come up and it got 01:03:00warm enough.

My grandfather finally came home, anyways, in the evening, or the second evening, rather--it took him two days to make the trip and have his wheat ground--and when he got home he found all this venison stored away in the kitchen, which the Indians had brought in, and of course there was so much of it that they could have never used it. So he loaded it in his sleigh box and took it around to his neighbors and his relatives, and gave it away so it wouldn't go to waste.

BITTNER: Mr. Coryer, do you remember anything about the Indian cures, or something that has been told to you about the medicines, the herbs and the barks 01:04:00and the various cures that the Indians used in the early days?

CORYER: Yes, my father used to tell me of when Mrs. Limery, an old lady which lived at the end of the lane opposite the mouth of that Limery Coulee, which is named after them, and they owned this coulee. She used to get my father to go with her and gather roots, different kinds of roots, barks, seeds, berries, for different ailments. She had learnt this from the Indians. And there was one cure which she showed that she could do much in that line, was of a man which was a raftman, or boatman. He travelled back and forth, up and down the river, helping the raftmen with rafts, and he came home in the fall after their summer's work 01:05:00was done, and the boats had been laid away for the winter, with quite a bit of money. Of course, those men would stop over Prairie du Chien and drink quite a bit, and in a drinking brawl, why, this man was stabbed, the full length of a knife blade in his side, and it punctured his lungs. The doctors that were here then tried to cure him all winter. They doctored him and they couldn't do it, and he got very weak and he was, well, just about dead when spring came.

And Mrs. Limery had heard this, so she went down to him and she asked him--that was after the doctors had given up, that they couldn't do anything for him--she asked him if he wanted to live. And he says, "Yes, of course I want to live." 01:06:00And she said, "Do you want me to cure you?" "Why, if you can I would sure be glad to have you, but I have no more money. My money is all spent. I spent it during the winter, for doctor bills and living." She says, "I'm not asking you about any money. I just wanted to know if you wanted me to cure you." "Why, certainly, if you could I would be too glad." "Well, just come up to my place, I'll do that." So she brought him up to her place up at Frenchtown, and she went out--this was early in the spring--and she got this spignard root, s-p-i-g-n-a-r-d root, and she would just scrape the top bark off of this root. The roots are about the size of a man's little finger. And she would shape them at the end, on the shape of--the way you sharpen a lead pencil, so that she 01:07:00could send this down into the man's side as far as the knife had gone. She did this with this man, and she'd leave the root long enough, out, so that he could turn it. She told him to turn this root about every fifteen minutes, to turn the root, give it a quarter of a turn or so. She kept doing this, and in a few days, of course, she didn't have to have such a long root. It had healed from the bottom. And it went on and on till finally, well, the hole was shorter and shorter, the roots had to be shorter and shorter, till finally she couldn't put any more roots in the sore, so she formed a poultice and put on the outside, which healed it entirely. The man got stronger and went back to work on rafts. In the fall of the year, he came back after he had worked and saved his money, 01:08:00and he gave Mrs. Limery two hundred dollars and thanked her very much for what she'd done.

And there's also a few other roots which are very good, and barks, that I learned through my father, which he learned from her, is the slippery elm bark, or red elm, or slippery elm bark, that's the inner bark. By steeping this and drinking the tea from this, will cure hiccups, the worst forms of hiccups. Then there is the colt's foot root, which is very good for mouth trouble, if a person has sore gums, sore mouth, or lips, by chewing this root and having the strength from the root go to the affected part, it will cure it. There was many other 01:09:00roots, kinds of roots and seeds and berries that were very good for such as that, that the Indians used, and of course thereby they were their own doctors.

Now, another thing that happened--this happened to my grandfather, that's my mother's father, Langford, when he was in Chicago. He was an engineer in a flour mill there, and the cholera epidemic reached Chicago one year and he got it. He got so sick and bad with it that the doctor had given him up. He also forbid my grandmother, the doctor forbid my grandmother of giving my grandfather water. He said it would hasten his death if she gave him water. Well, the doctor had given 01:10:00him up, and my mother--my grandmother had just about given him up also, because he just got so weak that he could barely whisper. And she heard a knock at the door. She went to the door, and there was a squaw there, and the squaw had a load of baskets, a whole blanket full of baskets to sell. She asked my grandmother if she didn't want to buy a basket, and my grandmother said, "No, I don't want baskets now. I can't. My husband is very sick, he's about dead, with cholera, and the doctors have given him up, and I'm afraid I'm going to lose my husband." And the squaw says, "Can me see your husband?" And my grandmother said, "If you're not afraid of catching the cholera, if you want to come in and see him, you're welcome." So the squaw came in, and as the squaw came to the 01:11:00bedside where my grandfather was laying, he whispered, "Water." He wanted water. And the squaw turns around to my grandmother, and she says, "He wants water. He wants water." And my grandmother says, "Yes, he wants water, but the doctor told me I shouldn't give him water, that it would hasten his death." "Huh, doctor don't know. I know. You want me cure husband?" And my grandmother says, "Why, if you can, I'll sure be glad to, glad to have you cure him or help him." So all right, so she hurried and got a basin, filled it with water at the well, fresh water, and brought it in, and she told my grandmother to help her raise my grandfather--[clears throat] pardon me--so he could drink this water, and he drank very much. And then he laid back--he was, of course, very weak, from the 01:12:00exertion of sitting up and drinking--but she said to my grandmother, "Your husband soon be sick." She said, "Your husband soon be sick." And it did happen that way, he soon wanted to vomit, which he did. He vomited much, and it was as black as could be, that which he vomited. "Uh, huh," the squaw says, "see, your husband gets better pretty soon."

And pretty soon he wanted more water, so she hurried and got more water in the basin and brought it in, and the sick man soon revived so that he wanted, asked for more water. She gave him water again, by helping him up, sitting him up, and gave him water. He didn't drink quite as much this time as he did the first. She 01:13:00said to my grandmother, she says, "He'll be sick again. Pretty soon he'll be sick again." Which he was. He vomited again, and the second time the water was about clear, just the rinsing of the stomach, you might say. And she says, "Now your husband get well." So my grandfather laid back for some time, and she says, "Pretty soon he want a little bit water." Which was true. It wasn't long, and he asked for more water. He drank a few swallows, and he laid down and he fell asleep. And his temperature left him. He had a very high fever, temperature, and it left him. She says to my grandmother, she says, "Now, your husband pretty soon wake up and want something to eat. You got meat?" And my grandmother says, "Yes, I have." So she got her the meat, and the squaw made broth for him, and 01:14:00when my grandfather woke up, she brought him the broth. He drank a little of the broth. She didn't let him drink much, very little at a time, but now and then she'd give him a little of the broth till my grandfather started to get stronger. And she says, "Hah, now I go. Your husband get well." So my grandmother says, "Couldn't you stay," she says, "with me a little while till my husband gets strong enough to sit up, gets stronger? Couldn't you stay with me, help me?" "Yes, sure." So she stayed with my grandmother for three days until my grandfather could sit up, get up and sit up, and was stronger. And so then she says, "Now your husband well. Me go." So my grandmother gave her five dollars, and this was all she had, and she gave her five dollars, and thanked her very much. And the squaw was well satisfied. And she says, "Sometime when you come 01:15:00around again, stop in and I'll give you more money." But the squaw never came back. She never saw the squaw anymore. But my grandfather got well and went back to work.

BITTNER: Mr. Coryer, the French had what they called a faith cure, that we've heard a great deal about, and I don't believe there is too much told of that in the early histories of the French. I wonder if you could tell us a little something of the faith cure of the early French Canadians.

CORYER: Yes, it was--[clears throat] pardon me--it was brought here with the first settlers. Mr. Limery was the man that first did this, and knew this cure, and then it was handed down to others. Each one, whoever knew this faith cure, could hand it down to three others before his death. And Mr. Limery handed it 01:16:00down to Mr. Gonyea, Basil Gonyea, and then Mr. Gonyea handed it down to others, and so on handed down, and there are still some in Prairie du Chien that know this and can make use of this faith cure. It don't only cure rattlesnake bites, but it cures several other [unintelligible], or several other ailments also. And to prove that, it can cure rattlesnake bite--my grandmother was bitten by a rattlesnake when they first settled up on Shanghai Ridge in the town of Eastman. One evening, an old bookseller, an agent, drove in the yard with an old white 01:17:00horse, and the horse was tired, and the man was old and tired also, and asked if he could stay there overnight with them. And my grandmother, of course, told him that if he wanted to put up with what they had there, he was welcome. So he said he would put up with anything, just so he had a place to rest for him and his horse, and something to feed his horse, and for him to eat. My grandmother told him that her husband, my grandfather Langford, had run out of old hay, that if he wanted hay to feed his horse, he'd have to take the scythe and mow his horse some hay, because her husband had come in tired and wouldn't feel like mowing too much hay. He says, "Well, if I had the scythe, if you'll give me the scythe, I'll surely do that and I'll also mow some for your husband's oxen, also." So my grandmother knew where the scythe was--it was hanging in an oak tree not far 01:18:00from the house. So she went to the tree, and she stepped near the tree to take the scythe down. There was a large rattlesnake there, and she touched the snake with her foot and the snake bit her on the ankle. Of course, she brought the scythe to the old man, and at the same time she says, "I've been bitten by a rattlesnake. There was a snake at the foot of the tree, and he bit me on the ankle."

The old man was very much excited, and he realized what it meant, and so he says, "Have you a shovel or a spade here? I'll dig a hole near the porch, and you just put your foot and leg down in there, up to your knee, and then," he says, "cover it up with wet clay and that will draw the poison out." So my grandmother got him the shovel, and he did that, and she sit on the porch and 01:19:00buried her ankle and leg and foot in the clay, and my grandfather came in from work in the field and there he saw her sitting there in that condition, so he quickly asked her what happened. She told him, and he put his oxen away as quick as he could, and went to the neighbors to see if he couldn't get other help, told the women folks about it, and in no time, there was a crowd there, and they were all trying to do all they could. Some said, "Give her whiskey, all she can drink." My grandmother had never drank any alcoholic drinks at all, wasn't accustomed to that, but still during the night she drank nearly a quart of whiskey and it didn't seem to take any effect. There was so much poison in her system from the snake, the whiskey didn't seem to take any effect on her at all. And some said, "Take chickens and just cut their heads off and split them open, 01:20:00and bandage the ankle with those chickens, put the warm chicken on there and it will draw the poison out." Which it did to a certain extent. My grandfather said that he threw those chickens--he used twelve of them during the night--just take those chickens and dumped them in a hollow stump not very far from the house--and he said by morning, this stump was just flowing over with a white foam from the poison from those chickens, which he burnt afterwards, of course.

Then by morning, about daylight, my grandfather's house wasn't far from the road, that led, well, from Prairie du Chien up by Eastman and down to what they called Citron Valley, and there was some of their relatives, the people that were travelling, going from Frenchtown to Citron Valley to visit their relatives there. And they noticed the crowd--that was the old fashioned way, if they'd 01:21:00notice anything like that, they wondered if they couldn't help. So they stopped in and asked what had happened, and if they couldn't help. So they were told about my grandmother being bitten by a rattlesnake, and they did all they could all night, and she was getting worse. The swelling was nearly up to her body, and also her leg was also spotted, the color of a rattlesnake. So my grandfather listened to them, and those French people told my grandfather that if he'd go down to Mr. Basil Gonyea and tell him about it and ask him to come up, that Mr. Gonyea would come up, that with this faith cure, using this faith cure, that he'd cure my grandmother. So my grandfather quickly picked a boy out of the 01:22:00crowd, and was light, and he had a light horse, a small horse, a saddle horse, and so he told the boy to learn from those people where to go to get Mr. Gonyea, which the boy did. Some of them giggled and laughed about this, that this just being a faith cure that could cure this. And my grandfather says, "Now, this is no time to laugh. My wife is about dead, and we have tried all we could all night, and we want to be sincere about this and try it as we should."

So the boy went down to Mr. Gonyea's on horseback, and my father--my grandfather told him not to save the horse, to travel right along fast and get there as quick as he could, which the boy did, most too much, drove the poor horse too fast, and when he got there the horse was very warm, white with lather from 01:23:00running. So Mr. Gonyea just happened to be driving in his yard as the boy come. He had been to Mass. He had drove down to Mass with a cart, a horse and a cart, and the boy told him what had happened, that he was wanted up at Langford's. And when the boy had told him where Langfords lived, where he should go, the boy says, "Take the pony and get on his back and ride back as quick as you can." He says, "Your horse is about dead now. You've driven him too fast. You take care of your horse, brush him down, and give him little bits of water now and then, and cool him off slow, and then start back home slow with him if you want to save your horse. I'll drive my own horse."

So he jogged on up there and got up to Langford's, and when he got there, my grandfather brought him in, and he told the ladies that were in there to cut 01:24:00just a slit in my grandmother's nightgown so that they could put a string around her leg near her body, and then have the ends extend out through this slit in her nightdress, so that he could tie them in certain knots that he made, and at the same time saying prayers that he should say. Which he did, and then he told my grandfather, he says, "Now your wife, in about three days, will be getting up and walking around the house, and when she does that, naturally the swelling will be going down, and the string will drop. Now, tell her not to bother with this string, to just go about her work, never mind the string, and when she loses it, not to look for it. Just don't bother about the string." My grandfather told my grandmother about this, but she'd forgotten, or feared that the swelling would go up again. When she did get about the house, the string 01:25:00fell down to her ankles, so she quick grabbed the string and pulled it back way up to where it was at first. And the swelling followed right up to the string. And she told my grandfather this, and, well, he says, "The man told you not to bother about the string. Let the string go where it would." Well, the next time it dropped, which it did, she left it go and lost the string, and, of course, never found the string. But anyway, in a few days, about a week or so, she was perfectly well. The swelling had gone down, and her leg didn't hurt her anymore, and she was well. She was never bothered with that anymore. Cured her.

Mr. Gonyea asked my grandfather to see this place where this snake was when he 01:26:00bit my grandmother. So my grandfather took Mr. Gonyea out there where the snake was coiled when he bit my grandmother by the tree. Before this, the boys in the morning as soon as daylight came, the boys of the neighborhood took dogs and they wanted to find this snake. They hunted with dogs and clubs, but they never could find the snake. But anyway, Mr. Gonyea told my grandfather he could go back to the house now. The boys, of course, was curious and they watched him. There was a rail fence near the place, so Mr. Gonyea fixed himself a switch out of hazelbrush, and sit on the rail fence. It wasn't long that he got off of the fence, walked to the spot where the snake was, and started switching and talking in French, saying something in French, and switching down at the ground. The 01:27:00boys all run there, and there was a big rattlesnake sneaking away as fast as he could go, crawling away. And the boys said, "Wait, wait, we'll tell him. We'll fix him." And Mr. Gonyea said, "Never mind, I'll take care of that snake. He'll never bother anybody anymore. He'll never bite anyone. I'll take care of him. You go back."

So the boys went back, and of course, Mr. Gonyea took his time, and got in his cart and drove away, and as soon as he'd gone out of sight, the boys took their clubs and dogs, and they were going to find that snake and kill it. They hunted the best they could, and had the dogs hunt also, but they never found the snake. And of course, my grandmother got well, and everything was O.K., from that faith cure.

BITTNER: Could you give me in a general way, Mr. Coryer, a little bit more background about to this faith cure, something about the people that are taught 01:28:00the lesson, or the ability to--something about the rules of this cure and something about the people themselves.

CORYER: Well, this faith cure couldn't be handed down to most anyone. It had to be a man of good character, and not a man that was addicted to drinking very much. Of course, they could take a drink, but not get drunk and get out of their minds so that they would use this when they shouldn't use it, and also abuse the use of this prayer, this cure. And they could teach only three. Each man that knew this could teach three others, and no more, before their death. Of course, 01:29:00the different generations was first, as I said, Mr. Limery that brought this here. He was one of the first settlers of Frenchtown. And then he taught it to Mr. Basil Gonyea. And Mr. Gonyea taught it to Mr. Joseph La Rocque and Charles Valle. Then Mr. Valle, Charles Valle, taught his son, Joe Valle, and also taught myself, Albert Coryer, and then I taught the two grandsons of Mr. Valle, the man that taught me the same thing, and they are the last ones that have been taught this from Mr. Valle. Mr. La Rocque taught William Valle, and also Albert La 01:30:00Bond, and Albert La Bond is still living in Prairie du Chien. That is the way this prayer has been handed down, this cure has been handed down. But of late, it's not used so much, because the doctors are available any time that anyone has anything go wrong about them and they need help, of course they run to doctors, and don't make use of this cure very much. But years ago, when doctors weren't available and people would have died, they were glad to have this cure administered to them, and it has cured and helped many.

Now this cure isn't only for rattlesnake bites, but such as eczema, rashes, or other ailments similar to that, and the healer is not supposed to collect or 01:31:00expect any money as a payment. They're not supposed to make a money racket of this. It's not a money-making concern at all. You're not supposed to use it for making money. It has been proven that where the man that said the prayers or did the healing has accepted or asked for pay, the cure didn't affect the one that was being doctored.

[tape ends]

BITTNER: This is Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin, April 17. This is Florence Bittner, interviewing Mr. Coryer, on the stories of Prairie du Chien, early Prairie du Chien. This is the fourth of the series, and I think this series, 01:32:00we'll take up the story of Frenchtown, Mr. Coryer, as you know it, and as the family told you about it. Some of the people, something about the people and their lives. Could you tell me something about that, Mr. Coryer?

CORYER: Well, old Frenchtown really started about a half a mile north of the north city limits of Prairie du Chien, city limits of Prairie du Chien. And, really, the first house was just up from the Camel Coulee Creek. At one time, this was a real creek that flowed at the rate of about a foot deep and four or five feet wide. There was a wonderful flow of water there, and this was supplied by the springs in the hills in the Camel Coulee and above the Camel Coulee. 01:33:00Later, this creek went dry, and after the Burlington built their road across the prairie there, why, on account of them building up the dump, the floods from the Camel Coulee would take--I remember when there was about a quarter of a mile of the dump washed away entirely. They had to build entirely new. The bridge and the dump was washed away, on account of the floods from the Camel Coulee. So the Burlington, to safeguard themselves, dug a ditch from the Camel Coulee down to the Soo, which would empty into the river, of course, so that it would be sufficient, large enough, sufficient to carry this water. But there is where the old Frenchtown starts. The first house was right north, a few rods north of this 01:34:00ditch, and west of the highway, or the old Indian trail.

And this was occupied by my great grandmother, Mrs. Lethard. She was a widow. Her husband had died in New Orleans. They had moved from Canada down to New Orleans, and on account of so much disease, and they didn't like the south so well, they moved back up. Finally, they got to Prairie du Chien. Her and her son, John, lived there in this house north of this creek. Just to tell one little incident or story which happened to her. This was on a winter day, wash day, Monday, she went to the creek where she always got her water. Instead of bringing it up in an open bucket from one of those old dug wells, which were 01:35:00reinforced with rock, she used to rather carry her water from the creek to wash with. There was a sort of a hole, a deep hole there, opposite her house, and she cut a hole in the ice so that she could dip water from that. And as she started to dip her water, every time she'd get a pail out, a pail full of water, there would be two or three fish, small fish, these creek suckers and the like, and of course she would empty her pail out on the ice. Before she could get one pail of clear water to take home, she had about 100 pounds of fish out on the ice, it was just thick with those creek suckers. Well, it's just to say that the change that has taken place. I am just telling you this just to tell you what change has taken place since then and now, being a dry ditch and then there was such a 01:36:00wonderful creek there. And there weren't only creek suckers, but there was wonderful trout. I remember one man telling me that he shot a trout that weighed three pounds out on the Camel Coulee. He saw it along the bank, he'd been out hunting, and saw it along the bank, and he shot it with a shotgun and brought it home, a speckled trout that weighed three pounds.

Now, then there was several houses from there on up, but they didn't last as long as the others north of there, and I can't quite remember, oh, probably three houses, but the next one was a Mr. Gernou, Mr. Gernou. He was a man that dealt in horses. He raised a lot of horses. At the time, of course, horses was 01:37:00used for pulling streetcars and also altogether on the road, that was the only thing they had for getting around with, and he raised horses. Of course, the faster the horses were, the better, and the more they could get for them, and the better they'd sell. Well, his wife died, and then he met a widow which had a son, and this son was great for riding around with the horses, too, and of course, occasionally he'd take a leave of going and taking one of the old man's horses, and having a good time riding up and down on the ice during the winter. This man would train his horses on the ice on Frenchtown Slough, which was about a half a mile long. One very cold day, this son made up his mind he would train 01:38:00this certain mare, or race this mare that this old man had, and so he takes the mare and harnesses her, and hitches her to the cutter, and was racing her up and down on the slough. This old fellow was up at the window and watching them, and he didn't realize that the old lady was as near as she was to him. And this young man, it seems, had Negro blood in him. And he says to himself, he had a way of thinking out loud, or talking to himself. And he said, "That nigger's going to kill my mare out there on the ice." And the old lady heard it, and well enough to state that she thought she did. She goes up to him, and she says, "What did you say, Gernou?" He says, "I just said that poor boy's going to 01:39:00freeze himself out there on the ice."

Of course, that ended it then, and it was all O.K., but he was in danger right then. Well, he didn't spend much in raising those horses, because those days they had free range. All they had to do in the spring of the year when the grass got good enough so that they could pick their living, was to turn them loose, let them go out on the prairies and the hills. Then all you had to do was get feed for them during the winter. That was the way he made his livelihood.

Well, then, the next one on the same side of the road, the west side of the road, was Moses Cayo. He was a sort of builder. Really, his trade was stonemason. Then across the road, that was between this Gernou and Cayo, there 01:40:00was Shinver. There was a Nicholas Shinver. And then south of him on the east side of the road, there was Garbitys. There was two families of Garbitys. Then right near Nicholas Shinver's was John La Pointe. This John La Pointe was the captain, or pilot, on the riverboats. He got his living that way, by working summers on the riverboats. And then right north of them, there was the two Godfreys. Mitchell Godfrey first, that's on the east side of the road, Mitchell Godfrey, he married an Indian, a Fox squaw. And he had, there was three children born to them, two daughters and a son. The squaw soon got so that she lived the 01:41:00same as the other old settler women there, the French women, dressed and cooked and got along the same as the other women, and spoke the French language, of course. And still, when springtime came, she'd get lonesome for her old way of living with the Indians and also visiting her folks, so she'd tell Mitchell, "Now, you've got to take care of the children while I go visiting." And she'd just put on her Indian attire and a blanket over her head, and away she'd go, and she'd be gone three or four weeks. Then she'd come back to her husband, Mitchell Godfrey.

Well, then the next lot to him was Joe Godfrey, and he had quite a strip of land. Maybe I should have--before I go any further, I should describe how this Frenchtown was divided up. On the west side of the road, it was divided up in 01:42:00village lots. They were narrow lots. They run from 80 feet to, oh, 300 feet. They were called the village lots. They run from the highway, or Indian trail at the time, down to the slough, what they called the slough, well, wherever the water was. And then on the east side of the road, there was the farm lots lands. They were divided up in strips, too. They were narrow, but they extended from the road to the bluffs. Each man would take about what he thought he could cultivate. Some of them built on the farms. Those built on the east side were built on the farm lots. Their way of measuring their land was the French way. They didn't measure by acres, it was by arpent, a-r-p-e-n-t. Arpent means, 01:43:00comparatively, to acre, only it's not quite as--don't consider as much land, there isn't as much land considered in an arpent as there is in an acre.

Well, now, I'll go on about the--north, or across the road, rather, from Joe Godfrey was an old grist mill. [clears throat] Pardon me. This old grist mill was entirely built of wood, excepting the two stones that ground the grain or wheat. Even the cog wheels were made of wood. They had no way of getting any metal materials here in Prairie du Chien at the time, and of course, they had to use wood altogether, and they had to have a way of grinding their wheat. This did the old settlers, as long as they didn't have a better one. My father told 01:44:00me, my father was born in 1845, and the way he told me, he was just a boy old enough to remember this. Him and the other boys would go in there and turn those cog wheels, and play as boys will. And Louis Dousman II, at times was visiting, his mother would be visiting up at Frenchtown, and he would be in with the other boys playing in the old mill. Then this was abandoned, this mill, when a man by the name of Gay built the mill where Gays Mills, the village of Gays Mills is now, and he operated this mill, and the power he used was water power, a water wheel, which was much better and made a better flour, better grade of flour, 01:45:00too, than this old wooden mill. That was why they abandoned the mill.

Now, north of this old mill was a man by the name of Thomas. This man Thomas came in there after the Booths had sold out. They sold out to Thomas. Across the road was a Lewis Cahill. Lewis Cahill had married a daughter of the Booths that lived there before Thomas did. Well, there is a little story connected with this Thomas. This Thomas used to raise horses, too, he was a great horseman. And he made his hay, or got his feed from the islands. And there was one time, that there was a suitcase full of money lost there in the islands by a couple of 01:46:00robbers. Later on, I'll tell you, you will get the story about the robbers, but this suitcase was found by this Thomas's hired man. He had a hired man that worked with him to mow the hay. They mowed it with a scythe. And the hired man hooked the scythe in this suitcase, and it seems that Thomas was wise enough to realize what this suitcase was. He says, when the hired man told him, he says, "Here's an old suitcase." "Oh, yes, this was a suitcase I had here last year and I forgot it here. I had my clothes in there, my extra clothes, sometimes there would come a shower and I wanted dry clothes to put on. I'll take it." And he takes the suitcase to the wagon.

Well, this Thomas was an ambitious man. He generally worked quite late in the 01:47:00evening, and make use of the day as much as he could. But this day, he wasn't so anxious in staying there so late. He was anxious of getting back home, and about four o'clock he says, "Well, we did a good day's work today. We're going home now." And there was an old frame house, an old fashioned house that he lived in, and it seemed he didn't have much money either. But after this happened, why, he built, well, quite a good brick house, which is still there at Frenchtown and seemed to have plenty of money. So, later on you will find out how this old suitcase come in there that was dropped in the islands.

Now, next to him there was Gremore, Oliver Gremore. He made his living by hunting and fishing, trapping--trapping really is where he made his money mostly--and also shooting ducks and geese and then selling the meat, the 01:48:00carcasses, to hotels and places in Prairie du Chien, and people who didn't go out hunting. And also the feathers--at that time, the feathers were worth a whole lot, and he made money by that.

Then next to him, on the same side of the road, was August Strand. He came here with his brother, Louis Strand. They came from the Red River district in Canada. Apparently, they were some of the first Norsemen that came up in that part of the country, but they had been with the Canadians so much, they spoke the Canadian language. Strand is really not a French name, as you notice, but when 01:49:00you'd live with them, you'd really think they were real Canadians, they were Canadians too, they were born in Canada, but their ancestors, I understand, came from Norway or Sweden.

Well, then his brother lived across the road, that was on the east side of the road, Louis. As soon as they could get brick from my grandfather's place, he built a large brick house, and he also built it so that he could keep a store and a tavern on the first floor, and lived on the upper floor, the second floor, which he did that for several years, and made money there in that way, and also operated a farm too. He had a farm lot across from the road to the bluffs.

And then right next to him, that is, across the lane that leads from the Frenchtown Road or the Indian trail to the bluffs, Limery Lane, as they call it, was the old bowling alley. That's the first bowling alley that was ever here in Prairie du Chien, and people would come from miles away to bowl there. That was quite a thing, till they got one down in Prairie, down on Blackhawk Avenue now, Bluff Street then, down there where Legion Hall is now, near there somewhere. Anyhow, then they abandoned this old bowling alley up there. I still remember, well, just the old remains of it, a few boards and the foundation. When I was a boy, I used to go by there and I remember that. Now, this Limery, as I said, 01:51:00Limery Lane was named after Mr. John Limery, which lived right opposite west across the Indian Trail, and he also owned most of the coulee, the Limery Coulee, and there's where it comes that they call it the Limery Coulee and also the Limery Lane. Now, this John Limery is the one that first introduced, or brought about, this faith cure here amongst the Canadians, and his wife had learnt how to doctor with roots, herbs and seeds. I have mentioned what she could do with her ways of doctoring in the previous recording.

Now next to them on the same side of the road, the west side of the road, was 01:52:00Oliver Sherrier. He was quite a farmer. He owned quite a bit of the land on the east side of the road. And then north of him on the same side of the road was a Joe Gremore. He was the son of the old, the first Gremore that came to Prairie du Chien, or to Frenchtown, and I'll mention his name later. This Joe Gremore's land was the first schoolhouse that was built there at Frenchtown. It was an old fashioned house with those boards, up and down wide boards with cleats nailed to it, and it was large enough to accommodate about thirty children. And of course, 01:53:00an old box stove. I went to that school myself just a few years. I finished the district school, what I could learn in district school, there, myself.

Then north of this was Bouzek, an old man and his son that lived there. Well, I suppose the old lady, or the mother of the son, was living one time there, but the reason why I mention this--the son had gone to town one day, and apparently the old man had--it was late in the fall, it was getting quite cold, you know, the man had built quite a fire in the stove, and all of them--none of them had any brick chimneys, they just had a stovepipe going through the roof, and a piece of tin around it. And the roof had got afire, and someone just happened to 01:54:00be going by noticed that roof flaming, and so they run in and told Mr. Bouzek that his house, or his roof, was afire. "Oh, is it?" he says, "Well," he says, "Charles is going to town. When he comes back, I'll tell him." He says, "He'll put it out." Of course, the people that seen this realized that when Charles would come, why, there wouldn't be any house there, it would be all burnt, so they got water from the well, and they put the fire out.

Well, then, next to him on the west side of the road was the old man, Mr. Gremore, the father and Oliver and Joe Gremore, which I have already mentioned. And he owned quite a patch of ground there, and it also extended to Gremore 01:55:00Lake. This land that he owned was really gotten through a man by the name of Courtois, Charles Courtois, and of course this Gremore married this Charles Courtois's sister, and this Charles Courtois had gone daffy, or insane, it seems, so that all he done was walk up and down the sandy ridge around Gremore Lake, with a club in his hand, chasing Indians away. He said he was protecting 01:56:00the place from Indians. Of course, the Indians could have soon made away with him if they wanted to, but it seems they realized they shouldn't. Well, the government, of course, they feared the government. They had been after them, and the Indians never bothered him, and he just imagined he was the one keeping the Indians away. Gremore, then, of course, through the marriage, got possession of this land, but this Courtois was really the one that the name of Gremore Lake was first brought about. It wasn't Gremore Lake, it was Courtois's Pond, Courtois's pond, and then later on it took the name of Gremore, because of course Gremore owned the land there.

Well, then, that just about ended the village lots and small places. Then next was Gonyea, Basil Gonyea, and he also farmed quite a bit, and then there was the Menards, the Menard family. Well, really there was two Gonyeas, and they all 01:57:00lived from--between the Mill Coulee and Gremore Lake. They each had a patch of ground and they lived there. That about ended the Frenchtown as far as the Mill Coulee creek. That's about as far as they went, where the Mill Coulee creek flowed to the river.

Well, then, the next and the last was Mr. Shinver, le Gros. "Le Gros" means the French word for "big"--the Big Shinver, meaning the Big Shinver. He was a large, strong man, and to distinguish him from the other Shinver, they'd say the Big Shinver. Anyhow, this Mr. Shinver--this was along in the spring of the year--was in the house one morning, and he heard a rap at the door, and he went to the 01:58:00door, and there was two men, strange men. They asked him if he wouldn't let them in so that they could dry their clothes that day by the fireplace. Mr. Shinver, of course, let the men in, and they hurried to the fireplace and took their coats off, and put them where they could dry, and then they scattered the contents of a satchel, a large satchel--which I mentioned before where this Mr. Thomas's hired man had hooked the scythe in, well, apparently this is the satchel. Anyhow, this satchel was full of greenbacks, or paper money, and they spread this on the floor. They were all wet, this money was all wet, so they spread that on the floor in front of the fireplace so that it would dry. And one 01:59:00of them kept a close watch towards Prairie, south, looking south all the time, looking out the window. Mr. Shinver--or, yeah, Mr. Schinver noticed that, and thought there must be something wrong, he suspicioned there was something wrong, and he asked no questions, of course.

Suddenly the man who was looking out the window says to the other, "Pick it up, pick it up, they're coming." They both hurried and picked the money up, and jammed it down into the suitcase--or, satchel, and closed it, grabbed their clothes, and opened the window on the north side of the house, they went through the window on the north side of the house, and out of the window they went with the satchel. And of course, Mr. Shinver knew then just about what had happened, 02:00:00that they were thieves and crooks of some kind. So he went and looked out the window, and there he saw a rig, a light rig with one horse hooked to it, and apparently two officers riding in the rig. So he stepped out of the house, and those men drove up to the house and they asked Mr. Shinver if he hadn't seen two strange men that morning about there. So Mr. Shinver, as quick as he could, told them all about those two that had come in his house, and how they had disappeared through the window. So the officers told Mr. Shinver to take care of the horse, and they both got out and ran towards the lake, Shinver Lake--there is a lake there that is named after Mr. Shinver. And of course, Mr. Shinver said they had gone down towards the lake. Before the officers got there, the two 02:01:00thieves had just about swam the lake. They were on the other side, and they shot at them with their revolvers they had there, but they were right near the willows, and they disappeared in the willows. But later on, it was thought that they must have hit the one that was carrying the satchel, when they shot at him, and of course, the body floated and the satchel went down. And that was the satchel that was found by Mr. Thomas and brought home that afternoon. And that just about ends Frenchtown.

I'm sorry, but I forgot one old party that lived in Frenchtown, and really the most important. That was the old Bouzek family. They lived right north of Joe 02:02:00Gremore's, and they were the oldest couple at that time, and I guess any time, in Frenchtown. The old lady was supposed to be 140 years old. She was once Mrs. Cardinelle, the first French woman that landed here in Prairie du Chien, or about Prairie du Chien, and she had been married four times. Mr. Bouzek was her fourth husband. Of course, he was much younger. He was a young man compared to her, and he was past eighty. He still made the living for the two of them. He would work around for the neighbors on the farms, and also did some trapping and some hunting, and they made a living. But one spring, it was, well, getting housecleaning time, and they realized the old lady couldn't very well clean her house herself, so the ladies of the neighborhood, those that knew her, got 02:03:00together--my mother was one of them--went there, and they cleaned house for her. The house was in terrible condition, of course. Finally, they said they'd give the old lady a bath, and on giving her a bath, they found that she really had moss growing on her back, that there was sort of a mossy formation there that couldn't be washed away--it was on the order of plush. Of course, the old lady lived a short time afterwards, so she was really over 140 years old when she died.