06/14/2026
Henry M. Gies was a carpenter who was born in 1865 and lived his entire life in Muscoda. He was part of the construction crew for the bridge over the Wisconsin River at Muscoda in 1882. A falling bridge brace struck Henry rendering him unconscious, leaving a large scalp laceration. He was carried home and attended to by Dr. Preston and fortunately, had a full recovery. In his leisure time, Henry was a taxidermist. “Henry Gies has just finished mounting two fine buck heads—one for W. S. Manning, of Solders Grove, and the other for J. P. Heffner, of this place [Muscoda]. Both are beauties and represent their natural appearance so well as to fairly look alive. The art of taxidermy requires taste, and when it comes to upholstering a defunct bird or beast, Henry can do it to perfection.” (Source: The Boscobel Dial, January 25, 1988, page 8.) He also was a boat builder and locals referred to him as the “River Man.” The first newspaper account of him building a “steamboat” was in 1897. The pleasure boat was used on the Wisconsin River. Through the next decade or so, Henry would improve his boats. Many people chartered Henry’s boat for rides on the Wisconsin River.
The following is one such ride and well worth the reading. It is a description of a boat ride from Muscoda to Port Andrew to see the construction of the bridges in 1902. From The Boscobel Dial, May 21, 1902, page 8: The sure to be and partially completed new bridge across the river and over islands with the miles of grade connecting the picturesque hamlet of Port Andrew to the new Chicago via Blue River, has been visited by many a scribe in this vicinity, who no doubt thought they had left might little picking in the way of interesting observation, or exciting experience for us to encounter when we should visit this great undertaking. It was just two o’clock Sunday afternoon, when, after waiting over an hour for the expected load that did not materialize, Commodore Gies, touched the button and started his beautiful gasoline yacht down stream from the landing near the bridge. The only passengers were George Schwingle, Chas. Heffner, young Puzzle and myself. The latter I may have occasion to refer to as me, my, us, I, the scribe, the whole cheese, and-so-forth. Capt. Henry said as the water was over the banks and as long as I did not know any more about the channel of the river than a calf did about sucking a boot strap, that he would let us attend to the wheel. It was no ideal day, but the real hunkey-dory thing, and anyone could get genuine pleasure from such a trip. The six-horse power engine with the eighteen-inch propeller sends the boat through the water like a high bred water spaniel bearing a big sized bone in her mouth. Following the river’s channel, as near as possible, it must be 10 miles from Muscoda to Port Andrew, and we made the landing near Ritchies store, where the front part of an old bobsled answers for the dock, in about 40 minutes from the time we made the start. Considering the short notice, they had of our coming we had reason to feel elated because of the large crowd that assembled on the high bank along the village front to welcome our arrival. Charley Heffner put on his sweetest smile, adjusted his necktie, rolled his cigar to the other corner of his mouth, and played the part of Prince Henry to perfection, but when we left the Port, he was busy munching crackers and wiener wurst. We soon pulled out from there to examine the work on the bridge. A couple of young men accompanied by the Misses McCartney, Willtrout, Haney and Shore, who were willing to pay for a trip around the [Coumbe] island joined us here. We noted Ab Clark roosting on the bank and called to him and he rode the bow, acting as figure head. The Commodore introduced us to the ladies by remarking to Ab that he had better direct the course of the ship, for that Chinaman could not steer a cow out of a pumpkin patch. The buttments at either side of the river north of the island are of stone and are completed and part of the grade on the island. We also went below the island and came back on the other side, which is the channel, and found that the draw, and two spans, which is all the iron that will be used connecting the island to the south shore, was up and about ready for the plank, the bridge here rests on four stone piers or buttments, and two iron piers. The stone, iron and all looks light to us, and as the river is narrow, the current is very swift here. A large guy rope was stretched clear across the river just above the bridge, and instead of slacking speed and cutting it at the risk of our lives, we dove under it. Ab grabbed it and threw it over his head. It dropped as tight as a fiddle string just in front of me and in flopping it over my devoted head, I yelled duck and made a flip-flop four feet in the air before I landed at the bottom of the boat with the rest of the load. The Commodore was behind, but he succeeded in holding the rope a second, giving him plenty of time to turn a back springset, landing where the butt of his pants could lap up the bilge water. To say the least it was a foolish thing to do and might have been the death of some of us or swamped the boat, and I believe an unlawful thing for the bridge builders to do to leave that rope there. We had hardly recovered from our gamboree, and had not gone four lengths of the boat above the rope when Heffner, who was looking back, called out that a boy had fallen from the bridge and into the swift water. In an instant all was commotion abord ship. A good-sized calliope would have been angel music. I was the only cool one there and manfully stood to the wheel and turned the boat with one fixed purpose glued in my eye, and that was to stick the prow in the clay and get someone else to recue the boy. When about six feet from the shore Ab, who was still at the peak of the boat, and had only time to remove one shoe, made a spring for shore, but fell short and dropped in about 14-feet of clay wrapped in water, and was up like a musk rat, and scrambled up the steep bank and was over the roadway calling to the boy to keep up courage before ever the hole had closed where he came out of the water. Henry and I got out to the shore as soon as possible and got hold of a plank and ran with it, expecting if needed to put it in the water for Ab to use in assisting him to float, but in the meantime Ab had ran to a point a little below the boy, who was still struggling in the water 30 feet from the shore, and about 20 rods below the bridge. His little hands were making a feeble effort to keep on top, but it was only the swift current that kept him from going down. Ab jumped in and with large strokes reached him and by the time we had arrived, he had him to the shore and was holding the boy above the water with one hand and grasping a limb of a tree with the other. After getting the boy to the shore it was found that he had taken but little water and was only exhausted and pretty well played out. We got him to the boat and took him home. He told me his name was Charles E. Ritchie and that they called him ‘Tot,” and he was 9-years old. It seems that mother is dead and that his father skipped out, and the boy is living with his grandfather, and that his life’s pathway is not spread wholly with roses; at least his grandfather was heard to remark when told of the accident that it would have been a good thing if we had left him alone. But I have got this to say, that Ab Clark did a brave and becoming deed that day, and as I understand there is a society of some kind somewhere who give a medal to the one who saves one from drowning, and if that is so, I will make the required oath and swear I swore to it that he deserves it. Henry Elston and Dr. C. F. Rodolf joined us at the Port, having arrived at the landing here too late to embark with us, and they secured Gies’s canoe and made the trip in one hour. The circus we encountered knocked all thoughts of the bridge out of our mind, and I will have to take another trip to tell of that, but re recommend Commodore Gies and his boat to those who enjoy riding on the river.
Note: William Ritchie, 1838-1919, spent most of his adult life in Port Andrew. He was a shoemaker for many years. As the size of Port Andrew declined, he put in a needed store. No further information on his grandson, Charles Ritchie, is known at this time. Henry Gies, "River Man", died at the age of 71 in 1937.
