"The Trapper" -- the source of the story

Way back when, I'm sure I would have been committed to a variety of stories in this very first collection of immigrant stories I'd committed myself to writing. When I found this story in Charles Dyke's History of Sioux County, it allowed me to consider that despair has no geographical boundaries and that not all immigrant stories move from rags to riches. 

What's central to Dyke's story is the gentility of the man he calls Van Ruinen, and his inability to cope with adversity--economic, it seems--in his life: "And thus another bark lost its course in the stormy ocean of life, and stranded on the eternal shores," as Charles Dyke puts it. 

The vital link between the two men who took their own life, I suppose, is their vital despair amid the promises of the new land. 

"The Trapper" is a dark story, but back then I would have said that not all Siouxland mornings are bright and sunny.

A SUICIDE 

Financial depressions have come and gone as long as we can remember. After the Franco-German war of 1871 the depression hit The Netherlands severely, and many a fortune was swept away. But fortunately much land in the United States of America, west of the Mississippi, was still in its primeval state and offered a welcome haven for the dis­possessed in the countries effected by the late war. When Sioux county was opened for settlement many of the down­-and-outers heard of this wonderful Eldorado, which un­doubtedly had been rather too strongly advertised by Henry Hospers and by settlers who had written to their relatives and friends in the old fatherland, and many of them sought another in the new world. But when they came, some of 1hem were as badly stranded as in The Netherlands and would inflict themselves on their relatives or friends. 

At the time when we ran a cattle herd on the wild land adjoining the Floyd river in Floyd township, near Hospers, we also took care of cattle for a man by the name of Law­rence Ketel. Mr. Ketel was of a gentle and friendly nature. To make a little side money he had a blacksmith shop on his homestead north of Alton, where now lives Louis Cleveringa {the south half of section thirty-five, in Holland township). Our folks became acquainted with Mr. Ketel when they had the breaking plow sharpened and adjusted in his shop, and a friendship sprang up between them. 

As was the custom in those days, several people who had cattle in our herd would come during the summer to see how they were getting along, and among these was Mr. Ketel. When Mr. Ketel called, he had with him a gentleman from The Netherlands who needed no introduction at our house, as we had known him in The Netherlands, and his name was Van Ruinen. Van Ruinen was of gentle birth, but had lost his fortune, had come to America, and found lodging in the Ketel home although it probably inconveni­enced them not a little, and this was undoubtedly sensed by the gentlemanly Mynheer Van Ruinen. Our folks were very glad to meet Mr. Ketel and Mynheer Van Ruinen, and they had much to tell each other over their coffee cups. 

When finally Mr. Ketel made ready to leave, and the handshaking began, Mynheer Van Ruinen shook hands so cordially with our folks that he would hardly let go of their hands, and asked where the little boys were, and when told that they had gone to the cattle herd on the prairie, he ex­pressed regret that he could not bid them good bye, and impressed our folks to tell them goodbye for him, all of which seemed strange to our folks. After a while we heard that Van Ruinen had disappeared and no one knew what had become of him. 

However this overly cordial handshaking and leave-taking was cleared up about a month later, when a twelve-year-old son of John Wallace of near Seney, was sent to the Floyd river with a yoke of oxen and a wagon to get willows to finish off grain stacks, and while whistling merrily, and about to begin chopping down willows, he almost stepped on the dead form of a man lying in the tall grass near a clump of willows. The boy, terror stricken, abandoned his oxen and ran to his father and told him of his gruesome find, and the father and his hired man were soon on the spot. The corpse was that of an elderly man, dressed in a pepper and salt suit of clothes and wearing heavy kid boots. The vest was buttoned up to his chin, and the coat was also but­toned, and the buttons were of brass. No papers were found to serve as an identification, but there was a flat metal tobacco box with tobacco, and a small tin box with matches, and close by, as if it had fallen from his hand, was a small vial, labeled "Strychnine." 

The find created consternation around Seney, as no one at first knew who the dead man could be, but a Holland girl from Orange City was working for E. M. Woods in that locality, and she furnished the clue. She stated that the man had disappeared about a month before and that he had of ten threatened to take his life by poison, and that his name was Van Ruinen. He had crossed the ocean in company with the Van Den Berg family living near East Orange (now Alton), on the west half of the northeast quarter of section three, Nassau township. The Van Den Bergs were of the gentle type of Hollanders, and were generally known by the name of "Welgelegen" (well located) as their farm had a big sign near the driveway to the house with the slogan, "Welgelegen" on it. It was supposed that Van Ruinen's mind had become deranged by reason that certain parties had cheated him out of a large sum of money, the last he had, and that he feared that he would become a burden to his friends, or a public charge, and had chosen the way out as outlined above. It was learned that he had bought the strychnine at LeMars under the pretext of intending to poison prairie rats (ground squirrels). And thus another bark lost its course in the stormy ocean of life, and stranded on the eternal shores. The Van Den Berg farm is now owned by William P. De Jong, and we hope and trust that the slogan "Welgelegen" will again appear on a signboard at the road· side, or on one of the buildings on the farm.