Histories: Trempealeau Co. Historical Accounts:
"History of Trempealeau County Wisconsin,
1917":
Chapter 10:
McGilvray's Ferry
-As
transcribed from pages 181 - 184
McGilvray's Ferry, located on the Black River, in Caledonia Township,
occupied an important place in Trempealeau County history for nearly
four decades, from 1854 to 1892. Many of the early settlers
passed into the county over this ferry, and the route of which it was a
part is still an important thoroughfare, the ferry being now replaced
by a neat bridge.
Alexander McGilvray, from whom the ferry took its name, located in
Trempealeau (Reed's Landing) in 1852, and the following year moved his
family to a homestead.
At that time people desiring to go to La Crosse, overland, went by way
of the ford at what was afterward Gordon's ferry. The need of a
ferry to shorten the route was imperative. Therefore in March,
1854, with the assistance of Charles Utter, Mr. McGilvray built a scow
in the streets of Trempealeau, and later in the spring hauled it with
teams to McGilvray's place, where it was launched and poled across
Black River with Mr. Utter's team as its first cargo. The ferry
was a reality now, and the first wagon road was opened into the south
end of the county.
Poles to push the boat across the river were used only for a short
time, when they were supplanted by an ordinary rope cable which was
used one season, and was then replaced by a three-quarter-inch iron rod
put together in sections. This was used until the wire cable took
its place when the new cable was utilized until the ferry was
discontinued.
The first ferryboat lasted two years, when a new one was
constructed. In all five boats were built, the last one by G. O.
McGilvray (now of Canyonville, Oregon), in 1890 and was run until the
McGilvray bridge was completed February 22, 1892, when it was sold up
the river to Decorah Prairie for Gordon's Ferry.
The rates charged for ferrying across the river were 25 cents for a
team; 35 cents for a four-horse wagon and 10 cents for a foot passenger.
The tide of settlers increased with the drifting years, and the traffic
along the river assumed larger proportions. Stage lines, and
freight lines were established, and in the winter when the steamboats
were frozen in, the travel was entirely by team and horseback, and by
French train. Four-horse freight wagons were commonly used, and
the stages often used two teams on their coaches when the roads were
heavy.
McGilvray's place assumed a busy aspect at times with the long line of
freight wagons and stage coaches on the river bank waiting for their
turn to be ferried over the river. Many of the travelers remained
all night at McGilvray's, and the country inn, or tavern, was a hurry
and bustle on days of heavy travel. Here were congregated at
times a rough and hardy lot of characters, and around the evening fire
were told wild and fascinating stories of pioneer life, filled with
thrilling adventure, and the comedy and tragedy of the backwoodsman's
career, whose nearest neighbor lived miles away, and whose skill with
the rifle furnished his rough-hewn table with plenty of savory venison,
and made the wary Indian reluctant to disturb his cabin home.
The stage driver told of his wonderful feats of driving, and of his
narrow escapes from robbers in attempted hold-ups; and of the perilous
risk he took of being thrown down some rocky embankment on murky night
drives. The trapper told of his long journeys alone into the
pathless wilderness in quest of furs; and the freighter was ready with
his tales of hardy endurance, and of the miraculous journeys made with
ponderous loads, up almost impassable roads, through snowdrifts or mud,
until his destination was reached and he was a hero in his own mind, as
well as the minds of some of his fellow listeners. The hunter and
trader swapped yarns and mixed lies almost as strong as the rum in the
freighter's wagon.
Alexander McGilvray entertained his guests occasionally with music on
his bagpipe, an instrument he had brought from Inverness, Scotland, and
the weary traveler would be stirred by the strains of "A Hundred pipers
and a'," and would beat time to the Highland Fling as the piper weaved
to and fro by the glowing fireside.
Rankin McGilvray was at this time a youth. In speaking of the
early days in after years he said: "When the Civil War broke out,
we began to carry soldiers across the ferry. Hardly a day went by
until the close of the war that we did not carry some of the boys, and
along at first they were all going one way, bound for La Crosse, and
from there to Madison or Milwaukee, and then to the front. But
after the first battle of Bull Run the wounded soldiers began to
return, and then we were carrying soldiers both ways until the war
ended. You could always tell one of the wounded ones, for they
were bandaged, and crippled; a great many had their arms in slings, and
others were walking with crutches; while some had bandaged heads.
I recollect one fellow who came back nearly shot to pieces. He
was the most dilapidated looking soldier I ever saw. He was lame
and his right arm was in a sling and he had been hit in the face, and
lost one eye, and couldn't see very well out of the other one, and was
sour and cranky, and rather discouraged and I didn't blame him.
Father kept him all night, and had one of the boys drive him to
Trempealeau the next day. Father never charged the soldiers
anything for carrying them across the ferry or for board and lodging
and although he could not go to the war, he did this patriotic service
for his country. My chances for going to the war were spoiled on
account of the ferry. I was on fire to go all right, but instead
of going to the front and dying for my country, I had to stay at home
and bail the water out of the ferry boat and help run it."
Along in the early sixties logging began to interfere with the
ferry. Sometimes teams would be compelled to wait for hours until
a log jam was cleared. Usually the logs bothered only a few weeks
in the spring or for a few hours only but occasionally the ferry was
laid up a week or two on account of the jams, and in 1885 the logs
extended in a solid mass from Lytles to the head of Decorah Prairie,
about 200,000,00 feet in a jam, and in the summer of 1890 the ferry was
blockaded for five months. This was done for the convenience of
the logging companies by putting a jack boom across the river half a
mile above Lytles and letting just enough logs go though to handle
during the day, thus saving the company from employing the men to do
the work the current did, when the river was kept open from Lytles to
Onalaska.
After Alexander McGilvray's death in 1878, his son, G. O. McGilvray
operated the ferry until the bridge was erected, with the exception of
one or two seasons when it was rented to William Kribs.
Referring to the ice stopping the ferry, G. O. McGilvray once wrote,
"On November 6, 1868, five or six West Prairie farmers drove to
Onalaska for lumber. The river was open and the ferry
running. The next day the men returned and found the river had
been closed twelve hours. The horses were unhitched and the
wagons loaded with a thousand feet of lumber were run across the ice by
hand and the horses led over in safety. That was closing in
rather suddenly."
When one turns and looks backward at the changeless past, what strange
visions come floating through the brain. One can see the long
procession winding down the road and passing in grand review
along the old ferry at Black River. The foot-sore land seeker
walking along the blazed trail and dreaming of the land where he can
find a free home in the unsettled wilderness; and following in his
footsteps comes the prairie schooner drawn by a yoke of oxen, and
headed toward the new settlement where lies the richest land that the
sun ever shown on, almost unmarked by the plow share. And then
the stream of pioneers increases, and the stage coach comes into view,
and the long train of freight wagons, and the trader, and lumberman
mingle with the varied throng. And now we see a line of blue creep
into the procession as on it moves and we feel a patriotic pride as our
soldier boys slowly cross the river, facing the grim reality of war
where death stalks abroad. And we see the wounded return with
empty sleeves and wan lips and take their way homeward.
Onward the procession moves until on every vacant piece of land there
rises a home, and the subdued soil blossoms with cultivated fields,
where once the wild deer ranged. And anon the procession changes,
the French-train and stage coach fade away, and in their place comes
the lumber wagon filled with golden grain for the market while the hum
of our commercial age makes the very hills tremble; and the slow old
ferry of long ago retreats up the river to sleep where old Chief
Decorah once looked out upon his peaceful village of smoking wigwams.
(By Eben D. Pierce.)