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built earlier by Mr. Hall. It is standing today. People usually alluded to it as the 'middle fort'. The dock was the 'new fort,' and the old trading post, dating back to the French regime, was the 'old fort.' My older brother and sister and two younger children were born in the old mission house. 

"Father took charge of the mission and Mr. Hall spent his time with the translation. He worked directly from the Greek to the Ojibway.

"Father selected some land in the primeval forest, on the Bad river, east of where Ashland is today, as the field for his agricultural experiment. He gave the name 'Odanah,' which means 'village,' to the settlement. He moved there May 1, 1845, and there I was born, Jan. 1, 1847. A treaty locating the 'Bad river' reservation was signed in 1854-5. We usually spent the winters at Odanah and summers on Madeline island.

"I CAN remember as a small boy seeing a big house built. Those northern pioneer buildings were real works of art and extremely accurate jobs. The French-Canadian experts with their broad axes would hew up the logs until they looked as though they had been planed. Uprights were all grooved and fitted to a heavy sill, including corner posts. Every opening was framed and each finished with a cap timber. 

"For clapboards they whipsawed timbers. A platform was constructed on which one of the men took his place with the 'pitman' working below. One pulling, then the other, they manipulated the saw.

"A house was lathed by splitting a cedar log into thin two-inch strips, and fastened to the wall diagonally with one course laid on top of the other, lattice fashion, properly spaced to hold the plaster of red clay. When this was dry the wall was whitewashed and you had an inviting interior. 

"My first teacher was Miss Abbie Spooner, who had come out from the east with mother and father. The little Indian boys and girls learned exactly as fast as the children of the missionaries. At that time there was no effort on the part of the missionary teachers to obliterate the Indian culture. 

"We white children learn Indian, the young Chippewas learned English. There were some missionaries who preferred that their children did not associate with the Indian boys and girls, but my father was not one of these.

"He was a great believer in the gospel of work and in the duty of himself and his family to set good examples in diligence. At Odanah he took great pride in having a model garden. He also believed that work kept a boy out of mischief. So, in the morning, he would give each of us a stint--sent the amount of work that my brothers and I had to get through with that day.

"We would set to work weeding the garden, or hoeing it. Pretty soon along would come a group of our Indian companions to lean over the fence and tease us to join them. 'Get your bows and arrows,' they would say, 'and we will go hunting.'

" 'We can't. We've got to work.'

The Indian boys would get their heads together a moment. They they would climb over the fence. 'If you will get some tools and we will all help...And when we are through we will all go hunting.'

"You may be sure that father had plenty of tools handy for just such emergencies and soon there would be a whole row of boys just eating up the work.

"When it was done, we would take our bows and arrows and start for the woods to hunt partridge and squirrel.

"OUR partridge hunting was lots of fun. You know male partridge has a way of sitting on a log and 

[[footer]] The Milwaukee Journal [[/footer]]

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[[subtitle]] The boys would gather about the pole from which dangled a Sioux scalp to listen to the visitor's story of his exploi[[cut off]] the first manager of the Astor fur station at La Pointe, who lived in the Wheele[[cut off]] [[subtitle]]

drumming. 'Iue-queen-gwa-ah,' the Chippewas call the partridge. 

"As soon as we caught the sound we would stop and then in a single file slowly moe in its direction, halting every few feet to listen intently, and peering through the leaves until finally some pair of bright eyes caught sight of the partridge. Usually he was sitting on the trunk of a tree that had been blown down.

"Moving quietly like the young Indians that we were, we would stretch out, making a wide circle around the drummer on the log and then gradually contract the ring until at last the bird caught sight of one of us. 

"I can see a partridge now, turning his head nervously in one direction and then another, as though it were on a swivel, looking vainly for an opening in the ring that encircled him. As he watched us, we moved closer to him until finally one of us was close enough to let an arrow fly.

Hold firm, strong, brown hands, 
 Look straight eagle eye, 
Pull on the good cord, 
 And the arrow let fly. 

"The rest of us would then rush in, sending arrows toward him and about one time in three, we would get the bird.

"IN A pasture on father's place in Odanah was a tall totem post. Father was careful to preserve this post and the land about it was just as it was, for it was the place where the Indians were accustomed to set up the conjuror's lodge. The spruce trees there were not cut and even the underbrush was preserved. Every once in a while the Indians put up the lodge. 

"They used a cabinet, just as the spiritualistic medium does. I have seen the poles to one of these lodges, frozen into the ground, shake and ring bells as a medicine man worked his incantations. The band of Indians camped nearby would come, one by one, to hold communications with their dead. 

"Sometimes there would be a Sioux scalp with its long braids placed on top of the totem pole, and there would be dances that circled around it. At such times we boys would be certain to go down to the pasture and join the band. I can hear the rhythmic pounding of the drum today. Suddenly it would cease and into the circle would leap the man who had taken then scalp. 


'Wild Dreams' of Scientist

New inventions and discoveries carried electrical science to a great preeminence in the affairs of civilization last year. From the mass of recently accumulated facts, the broadcasting of life size television images and the demonstration of Georges Claude's power process were the major achievements made possible my electricity last year. 

In May an audience and spectators witnessed the first talking-television broadcast in a public theater at Schenectady, where Dr. E.F.W. Alexanderson transmitted images between his laboratory and the theater. An orchestra conductor in the laboratory, two miles away, conducted his musicians in the theater. They saw his baton move up and down, and he, in turn, heard their music. The actors appeared on a screen of 42 square feet; their facial features were clear, although covered with the "rain" effect common in early movie productions.

In England another apostle of television, Baird, made possible the first broadcast of a full dramatic production, Pirandello's "The Man With a Flower in His Mouth." The British Broadcasting Co. transmitted the scenes to its regular subscribers. 

Georges Claude, in a tropical laboratory at Matanzas Bay, Cuba, succeeded in changing the thermal energy of sea water into electricity and its maintaining enough current to light 40 500-watt bulbs and keep them burning. Claude utilized the principle of warm water vaporizing to steam when placed in a vacuum. The steam turns a turbine. The result is power from the sea. The thermal energy now going to waste, he says, might be harnessed to such undertakings as cooling the tropics or irrigating the Sahara.

SEEKING a method to economize power loss in transmission, the British government subsidized a Russian scientist, Dr. Peter Kapitza. In a $75,000 laboratory at Cambridge university, Dr. Kapitza is discharging powerful electrical pulsations to the temperature of liquid hydrogen, which is below that of liquid air. 

From these experiments Dr. Kapitza hopes to find a way to eliminate the loss of power in submarine cables and 

Transcription Notes:
Edited: minor errors, filled in cut off words (since there was little ambiguity in what they were)