| Summary: | Related for the Bottineau County Golden Jubilee by Gilbert Hanson —1934 "I was born in Helgeland, Norway in May 1865. In my youth the "American fever" was at its height in the old world. At the age of 18 I left the homeland in the company of brother, Peter, and family, and a neighbor boy, Peer Dunderland, enroute for the U.S. A storm raged for two days while we were crossing the Atlantic. The first night of the storm Peer and I were rather rudely awakened by someone frantically shaking us and hysterically crying in Swedish that now the end had come. The ship was leaking the visitor said and most of the passengers had already jumped into the ocean. At first this rather produced a hair-raising effect but when wc didn't hear any disturbances on board we decided it must have been a false alarm. Later we found out our guest had been an insane man who was caught and placed in safekeeping just as he was about to jump overboard. Upon reaching our destination, Kendi-o-hey, Minn., brother Peter rented a farm and I stayed there to help him. After remaining here four years reports of the cheap homesteads to be had in North Dakota caused me to desire to journey on into this state. Sister Karen had come over from Norway to us and was married to John Hold. In the spring of 1887 Karen, John Wold, Peer Dunderland and I decided to go. I had a grubbing job to finish so the other three started on in the covered wagon drawn by oxen. I was to take the train to Fargo to meet them there. Finishing my work 3-4 days after their departure I boarded the train for Fargo. Fargo at that time was a one-street village, not much larger than Carbury, N. D., a few years ago. Moorhead was still less. There were numbers of tents of immigrants trains in both towns. I searched both Moorhead and Fargo for my company but was unable to learn anything about them. So I struck off on foot. By the time I reached Casselton, it was getting dark. I was tired, disappointed, and hungry. I had found no clue of their whereabouts. I kept on until I came near to Wheatland. Here on the desolate prairie I decided to spend the night. I crawled under a railroad trestle and went to sleep. Sometime during the night I was startled by a long freight train passing over the trestle. It took a while before I could collect my senses enough so as to realize what was really happening. Well, I decided this was no place to spend the rest of the night, so stumbled along in the dark following the tinkling of a cowbell until I came to a strawstack where the remainder of the night was spent in comparative my company was useless I walked back to Fargo the next day. Upon returning again searched Fargo and Moorhead but to no avail. The next day I joined another company having horses, who were journey into North Dakota thinking thus perhaps to find my folks. One evening as we were on the road heading for Grand Forks we at last spied them. I left my new found friends for my own outfit and traveled the rest of our journey to Bottineau at ox team gait and mostly on foot, sleeping under the wagon nights. Arriving at the Devils Lake land office they highly recommended homestead land near Rugby, N. D., but as we passed along, the prairie land became very monotonous to us and our desire was to homestead where there were woods and water like in our homeland. We journeyed on until we reached Bottineau on the 25th of June. Just a 22 day journey for the Wolds from their home in Kendi-o-hey. We camped just southeast of town. A visitor came to our camp who strongly recommended the Turtle Mountains as being just the kind of a homesteading place we were in search of. We moved our camp that evening to a place about 6 miles northwest of town. The next day John and Peer struck off for the "hills" to see what they thought of the land. They journeyes as far as to Lake Metigoshe and upon returning that evening reported they were not quite satisfied with the "hills." Great fires had swept over the Turtle mountains and desolate indeed they appeared. They had seen no people. Even at that John and I started off again the next day to explore more carefully this region. This time we went as far as Loon Lake. Here we liked the country and as the trees were unharmed by the fires the view of Loon Lake from our elevated position was quite inspiring. We returned to camp and as it was already getting on into summer and we were anxious to get settled we decided to homestead here. The first day we followed somekind of a trail most of the time. We camped that night by Oak Creek near where Ed. Dunderland now lives. Here were also other campers. Some of these had already picked out their land sites. There was such a heavy frost that night (June 27) that the next morning the heavy dew settling on the wagon tongue clattered like broken glass when swept off. From here on we had no trail but wormed our way around fallen trees and stumps as best we could or cleared our way with our axes. We pitched camp some time in the afternoon, after much trouble in crossing the marshy lands where John Dunderland now lives, near Loon Lake. After pitching camp John struck off to see how hay lands looked while I decided to try my luck fishing. I had no gun with me. I soon came upon a distinct trail towards the lake. At first I thought it must be an Indian or buffalo trail, but discovered later I was on a bear trail. I cut across it to go back for my gun. Shortly after having done so a huge black hulk rose up in front of me. It was rather a breath taking moment but to my relief he hurriedly scrambled off. Arriving back in camp I found John had also returned reporting having seen a huge elk. Our camp being close to the lake various water birds as the loon, coots, and others made the air resound with their queer sounding, unfamiliar cries. Karen said nothing as we related our experiences but shortly afterwards commenced to weep. She finally told us she was afraid to stay here, as she'd be alone so much of the time. Our stories and the wierd bird cries had proven too much for her. Couldn't we realize she said, that this terrible territory would never be settled. And really the fire devastated country did not look to inviting. It ended with our decision to return to Bottineau to try somewhere else. Upon arriving near where Gilbert Thompson now lives we met some men looking for homestead land. We told them about the place we had picked out but since we weren't staying suggested they give it a "look over." Karen said nothing for a while after they had left, but soon her sturdy Viking spirit was regained. She turned to her husband and said she was willing to return to the place we had picked out if we liked it well enough to homestead there. If others could manage to live there, so could she. Return we did, and immediately began fixing up some kind of a shelter until a log house could be built. Our first "home" was one built up in less than a day of green branches with the burlap formerly covering of the wagon for a roof. Then we proceeded to build a one room log cabin. We used clay from Loon Lake and perhaps a little moss as plaster between the logs. We put birch bark and turf for roofing. In this home Wolds spent their first years in the "hills." Brother Peter came to the Turtle mountains the next spring, in April 1887. The land he picked out was "jumped" by some men who tried to hold several quarters each. To insure him against losing this six of us men set to work one moonlight evening to build a house. We worked all through (122) Scanned with a Zeutschel Zeta book scanner at 300 dpi. Edited with Multi-Page TIFF Editor.
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