Wau-bun, the Early Day in the Northwest - Chapters 28-33



CHAPTER XXVIII.
INDIAN CUSTOMS AND DANCES.

Before we had any right to look for my husband's return, I one day
received a message inviting me to come up to the new house. We all went in
a body, for we had purposely stayed away a few days, expecting this
summons, of which we anticipated the meaning.

Plante, in full glee, was seated astride of a small keg on the roof, close
beside the kitchen chimney, on the very summit of which he had planted a
green bough. To this

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he held fast with one hand, while he exultingly waved the other and called
out,--

"Eh ban, Madame John! a cette heure, pour le regal!"

"Yes, Plante, you are entitled to a treat, and I hope you will not enjoy
it the less that Pillon and Manaigre are to share it with you."

A suitable gratification made them quite contented with their
"bourgeoise," against whom Plante had sometimes been inclined to grumble,
"because," as he said, "she had him called up too early in the morning."
He might have added, because, too, she could not understand the philosophy
of his coming in to work in his own garden, under the plea that it was too
rainy to work in Monsieur John's.

It was with no ordinary feelings of satisfaction that we quitted the old
log tenement and took possession of our new dwelling, small and
insignificant though it was.

I was only too happy to enjoy the luxury of a real bed-chamber, in place
of the parlor floor which I had occupied as such for more than two months.
It is true that our culinary arrangements were still upon no greatly
improved plan. The clay chimney was not of sufficient strength to hold the
trammel and pot-hooks, which at that day had not been superseded by the
cooking-stove and kitchen-range. Our fire was made as in the olden time,
with vast logs behind, and smaller sticks in front, laid across upon the
andirons or dogs. Upon these sticks were placed such of the cooking-
utensils as could not be accommodated on the hearth; but woe to the dinner
or the supper, if through a little want of care or scrutiny one
treacherous piece was suffered to burn away. Down would come the whole
arrangement--kettles, saucepans, burning brands, and cinders, in one
almost inextricable mass. How often

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this happened under the supervision of Harry or little Josette, while the
mistress was playing lady to some visitor in the parlor, "'twere vain to
tell."

Then, spite of Monsieur Plante's palisades round the chimney, in a hard
shower the rain would come pelting down, and, the hearth unfortunately
sloping a little the wrong way, the fire would become extinguished; while,
the bark on the roof failing to do its duty, we were now and then so
completely deluged, that there was no resource but to catch up the
breakfast or dinner and tuck it under the table until better times--that
is, till fair weather came again. In spite of all these little adverse
occurrences, however, we enjoyed our new quarters exceedingly.

Our garden was well furnished with vegetables, and even the currant-bushes
which we had brought from Chicago with us, tied in a bundle at the back of
the carriage, had produced us some fruit.

The Indian women were very constant in their visits and their presents.
Sometimes it was venison--sometimes ducks or pigeons--whortleberries, wild
plums, or cranberries, according to the season--neat pretty mats for the
floor or the table--wooden bowls or ladles, fancy work of deer-skin or
porcupine-quills. These they would bring in and throw at my feet. If
through inattention I failed to appear pleased, to raise the articles from
the floor and lay them carefully aside, a look of mortification and the
observation, "Our mother hates our gifts," showed how much their feelings
were wounded. It was always expected that a present would be received
graciously, and returned with something twice its value.

Meantime, week after week wore on, and still was the return of "the
master" delayed.

The rare arrival of a schooner at Green Bay, in which

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to take passage for Detroit, made it always a matter of uncertainty what
length of time would be necessary for a journey across the lakes and back--
so that it was not until the last of August that he again reached his
home. Great was his surprise to find us so nicely moved and settled; and
under his active supervision the evils of which we had had to complain
were soon remedied.

My husband had met at Fort Gratiot, and brought with him, my young brother
Julian, whom my parents were sending, at our request, to reside with us.
Edwin was overjoyed to have a companion once more, for he had hitherto
been very solitary. The boys soon had enough to occupy their attention,
as, in obedience to a summons sent to the different villages, the Indians
very shortly came flocking in to the payment.

There was among their number, this year, one whom I had never before seen--
the mother of the elder Day-kau-ray. No one could tell her age, but all
agreed that she must have seen upwards of a hundred winters. Her eyes
dimmed, and almost white with age--her face dark and withered, like a
baked apple--her voice tremulous and feeble, except when raised in fury to
reprove her graceless grandsons, who were fond of playing her all sorts of
mischievous tricks, indicated the very great age she must have attained.

She usually went upon all-fours, not having strength to hold herself
erect. On the day of the payment, having received her portion, which she
carefully hid in the corner of her blanket, she came crawling along and
seated herself on the door-step, to count her treasure.

My sister and I were watching her movements from the open window.

Presently, just as she had, unobserved, as she thought, spread out her
silver before her, two of her descendants

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came suddenly upon her. At first they seemed begging for a share, but she
repulsed them with angry gestures, when one of them made a sudden swoop,
and possessed himself of a handful.

She tried to rise, to pursue him, but was unable to do more than clutch
the remainder and utter the most unearthly screams of rage. At this
instant the boys raised their eyes and perceived us regarding them. They
burst into a laugh, and with a sort of mocking gesture they threw her the
half-dollars, and ran back to the pay-ground.

In spite of their vexatious tricks, she seemed very fond of them, and
never failed to beg something of her Father, that she might bestow upon
them.

She crept into the parlor one morning, then straightening herself up, and
supporting herself by the frame of the door, she cried, in a most piteous
tone,--"Shaw-nee-aw-kee! Wau-tshob-ee-rah Thsoonsh-koo-nee-noh!"
(Silverman, I have no looking-glass.) My husband, smiling and taking up
the same little tone, cried, in return,--

"Do you wish to look at yourself, mother?"

The idea seemed to her so irresistibly comic that she laughed until she
was fairly obliged to seat herself upon the floor and give way to her
enjoyment. She then owned that it was for one of the boys that she wanted
the little mirror. When her Father had given it to her, she found that she
had "no comb," then that she had "no knife," then that she had "no calico
shawl," until it ended, as it generally did, by Shaw-nee-aw-kee paying
pretty dearly for his joke.

When the Indians arrived and when they departed, my sense of "woman's
rights" was often greatly outraged. The master of the family, as a general
thing, came leisurely bearing his gun and perhaps a lance in his hand; the

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woman, with the mats and poles of her lodge upon her shoulders, her
pappoose, if she had one, her kettles, sacks of corn, and wild rice, and,
not unfrequently, the household dog perched on the top of all. If there is
a horse or pony in the list of family possessions, the man rides, the
squaw trudges after.

This unequal division of labor is the result of no want of kind,
affectionate feeling on the part of the husband. It is rather the instinct
of the sex to assert their superiority of position and importance, when a
proper occasion offers. When out of the reach of observation, and in no
danger of compromising his own dignity, the husband is willing enough to
relieve his spouse from the burden that custom imposes on her, by sharing
her labors and hardships.

The payment had not passed without its appropriate number of complimentary
and medicine dances. The latter take place only at rare intervals--the
former whenever an occasion demanding a manifestation of respect and
courtesy presents itself.

It is the custom to ask permission of the person to be complimented, to
dance for him. This granted, preparation is made by painting the face
elaborately, and marking the person, which is usually bare about the chest
and shoulders, after the most approved pattern. All the ornaments that can
be mustered are added to the hair, or headdress. Happy is he who, in
virtue of having taken one or more scalps, is entitled to proclaim it by a
corresponding number of eagle's feathers.

The less fortunate make a substitute of the feathers of the wild turkey,
or, better still, of the first unlucky "rooster" that falls in their way.
My poor fowls, during the time of payment, were always thoroughly plucked.

When their preparations are completed, the dancers

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assemble at some convenient place, whence they come marching to the spot
appointed, accompanied by the music of the Indian drum and shee-shee-qua
or rattle. They range themselves in a circle and dance with violent
contortions and gesticulations, some of them graceful, others only
energetic, the squaws, who stand a little apart and mingle their
discordant voices with the music of the instruments, rarely participating
in the dance. Occasionally, however, when excited by the general gaiety, a
few of them will form a circle outside and perform a sort of ungraceful,
up-and-down movement, which has no merit, save the perfect time which is
kept, and for which the Indians seem, without exception, to possess a
natural ear.

The dance finished, which is only when the strength of the dancers is
quite exhausted, a quantity of presents are brought and placed in the
middle of the circle, by order of the party complimented. An equitable
distribution is made by one of their number; and, the object of all this
display having been accomplished, they retire.

The medicine dance is carried on chiefly to celebrate the skill of the
"Medicine-man" in curing diseases. This functionary belongs to a
fraternity who are supposed to add to their other powers some skill in
interpreting the will of the Great Spirit in regard to the conduct of his
people. He occasionally makes offerings and sacrifices which are regarded
as propitiatory. In this sense, the term "priest" may be deemed applicable
to him. He is also a "prophet" in so far as he is, in a limited degree, an
instructor; but he does not claim to possess the gift of foretelling
future events.

A person is selected to join the fraternity of the "Medicine-man" by those
already initiated, chiefly on account of some skill or sagacity that has
been observed in him. Sometimes it happens that a person who has had a
severe

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illness which has yielded to the prescriptions of one of the members, is
considered a proper object of choice from a sort of claim thus established.

When he is about to be initiated, a great feast is made, of course at the
expense of the candidate, for in simple as in civilized life the same
principle of politics holds good, "honors must be paid for." An animal is
killed and dressed, of which the people at large partake--there are dances
and songs and speeches in abundance. Then the chief Medicine-man takes the
candidate and privately instructs him in all the ceremonies and knowledge
necessary to make him an accomplished member of the fraternity. Sometimes
the new member selected is still a child. In that case he is taken by the
Medicine-man so soon as he reaches a proper age, and qualified by
instruction and example to become a creditable member of the fraternity.

Among the Winnebagoes there seems a considerable belief in magic. Each
Medicine-man has a bag or sack, in which is supposed to be inclosed some
animal, to whom, in the course of their pow-wows, he addresses himself,
crying to him in the note common to his imagined species. And the people
seem to be persuaded that the answers which are announced are really
communications, in this form, from the Great Spirit.

The Indians appear to have no idea of a retribution beyond this life. They
have a strong appreciation of the great fundamental virtues of natural
religion--the worship of the Great Spirit, brotherly love, parental
affection, honesty, temperance, and chastity. Any infringement of the laws
of the Great Spirit, by a departure from these virtues, they believe will
excite his anger and draw down punishment. These are their principles.
That their practice evinces more and more a departure from them, under

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the debasing influences of a proximity to the whites, is a melancholy
truth, which no one will admit with so much sorrow as those who lived
among them, and esteemed them, before this signal change had taken place.

One of the first improvements that suggested itself about our new
dwelling, was the removal of some very unsightly pickets surrounding two
or three Indian graves, on the esplanade in front of the house. Such,
however, is the reverence in which these burial-places are held, that we
felt we must approach the subject with great delicacy and consideration.

My husband at length ventured to propose to Mrs. "Pawnee Blanc," the
nearest surviving relative of the person interred, to replace the pickets
with a neat wooden platform.

The idea pleased her much, for, through her intimacy in Paquette's family,
she had acquired something of a taste for civilization. Accordingly, a
little platform about a foot in height, properly finished with a moulding
around the edge, was substituted for the worn and blackened pickets; and
it was touching to witness the mournful satisfaction with which two or
three old crones would come regularly every evening at sunset, to sit and
gossip over the ashes of their departed relatives.

On the fine moonlight nights, too, there might often be seen a group
sitting there, and enjoying what is to them a solemn hour, for they
entertain the poetic belief that "the moon was made to give light to the
dead."

The reverence of the Indians for the memory of their departed friends, and
their dutiful attention in visiting and making offerings to the Great
Spirit, over their last resting-places, is an example worthy of imitation
among their more

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enlightened brethren. Not so, however, with some of their customs in
relation to the dead.

The news of the decease of one of their number is a signal for a general
mourning and lamentation; it is also in some instances, I am sorry to say,
when the means and appliances can be found, the apology for a general
carouse.

The relatives weep and howl for grief--the friends and acquaintance bear
them company through sympathy. A few of their number are deputed to wait
upon their Father, to inform him of the event, and to beg some presents
"to help them," as they express it, "dry up their tears."

We received such a visit one morning, not long after the payment was
concluded.

A drunken little Indian, named, by the French people around, "Old
Boilvin," from his resemblance to an Indian Agent of that name at Prairie
du Chien, was the person on account of whose death the application was
made. "He had been fishing," they said, "on the shores of one of the
little lakes near the Portage, and, having taken a little too much
'whiskee,' had fallen into the water and been drowned." Nothing of him had
been found but his blanket on the bank, so there could be no funeral
ceremonies, but his friends were prepared to make a great lamentation
about him.

Their Father presented them with tobacco, knives, calico, and looking-
glasses, in proportion to what he thought might be their reasonable grief
at the loss of such a worthless vagabond, and they departed.

There was no difficulty, notwithstanding the stringent prohibitions on the
subject, in procuring a keg of whiskey from some of the traders who yet
remained. Armed with that and their other treasures, they assembled at an

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appointed spot, not far from the scene of the catastrophe, and, sitting
down with the keg in their midst, they commenced their affliction. The
more they drank, the more clamorous became their grief, and the faster
flowed their tears.

In the midst of these demonstrations, a little figure, bent and
staggering, covered with mud and all in disorder, with a countenance full
of wonder and sympathy, approached them, and began,--

"Why? what? what? Who's dead?"

"Who's dead?" repeated they, looking up in astonishment. "Why, you're
dead! you were drowned in Swan Lake! Did not we find your blanket there?
Come, sit down and help us mourn."

The old man did not wait for a second invitation. He took his seat and
cried and drank with the rest, weeping and lamenting as bitterly as any of
them, and the strange scene was continued as long as they had power to
articulate, or any portion of the whiskey was left.



CHAPTER XXIX.
STORY OF THE RED FOX.

The Indians, of whatever tribe, are exceedingly fond of narrating or
listening to tales and stories, whether historical or fictitious. They
have their professed story-tellers, like the Oriental nations, and these
go about, from village to village, collecting an admiring and attentive
audience, however oft-told and familiar the matter they recite.

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It is in this way that their traditions are preserved and handed down
unimpaired from generation to generation. Their knowledge of the geography
of their country is wonderfully exact. I have seen an Indian sit in his
lodge, and draw a map, in the ashes, of the Northwestern States, not of
their statistical but their geographical features, lakes, rivers, and
mountains, with the greatest accuracy, giving their relative distances, by
days' journeys, without hesitation, and even extending his drawings and
explanations as far as Kentucky and Tennessee.

Of biography they preserve not only the leading events in the life of the
person, but his features, appearance, and bearing, his manners, and
whatever little trait or peculiarity characterized him.

The women are more fond of fiction, and some of their stories have a
strange mingling of humor and pathos. I give the two which follow as
specimens. The Indian names contained in them are in the Ottawa or "Courte-
Oreilles" language, but the same tales are current in all the different
tongues and dialects.

STORY OF THE RED FOX.

This is an animal to which many peculiarities are attributed. He is said
to resemble the jackal in his habit of molesting the graves of the dead,
and the Indians have a superstitious dread of hearing his bark at night,
believing that it forebodes calamity and death. They say, too, that he was
originally of one uniform reddish-brown color, but that his legs became
black in the manner related in the story.

There was a chief of a certain village who had a beautiful daughter. He
resolved upon one occasion to make a

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feast and invite all the animals. When the invitation was brought to the
red fox, he inquired, "What are you going to have for supper?"

"Mee-dau-mee-nau-bo," was the reply. (This is a porridge made of parched
corn, slightly cracked.)

The fox turned up his little sharp nose. "No, I thank you," said he; "I
can get plenty of that at home."

The messenger returned to the chief, and reported the contemptuous refusal
of the fox.

"Go back to him," said the chief," and tell him we are going to have a
nice fresh body,(*) and we will have it cooked in the most delicate manner
possible."

The hour arrived, and he set off for the lodge of the chief to attend the
feast. The company were all prepared for him, for they made common cause
with their friend who had been insulted. As the fox entered, the guest
next the door, with great courtesy, rose from his place, and begged the
new-comer to be seated. Immediately the person next him also rose, and
insisted that the fox should occupy his place, as it was still nearer the
fire--the post of honor. Then the third, with many expressions of
civility, pressed him to exchange with him; and thus, with many
ceremonious flourishes, he was passed along the circle, always approaching
the fire, where a huge cauldron stood, in which the good cheer was still
cooking. The fox was by no means unwilling to occupy the highest place in
the assembly, and, besides, he was anxious to take a peep into the kettle,
for he had his suspicions that he might be disappointed of the delicacies
he had been expecting.

(* The Indians, in relating a story like this, apologize for alluding to a
revolting subject. "You will think this unpleasant," they say.
Pleased with the prospect of such a treat, the fox gave a very hearty
assent to the second invitation.)

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So, by degrees, he was ushered nearer and nearer the great blazing fire,
until by a dexterous push and shove he was hoisted into the seething
kettle.

His feet were dreadfully scalded, but he leaped out, and ran home to his
lodge, howling and crying with pain. His grandmother, with whom, according
to the custom of animals, he lived, demanded of him an account of the
affair. When he had faithfully related all the circumstances (for, unlike
the civilized animals, he did not think of telling his grandmother a
story), she reproved him very strongly.

"You have committed two great faults," said she. "In the first place, you
were very rude to the chief who was so kind as to invite you, and by
returning insult for civility you made yourself enemies who were
determined to punish you. In the next place, it was very unbecoming in you
to be so forward to take the place of honor. Had you been contented
modestly to keep your seat near the door, you would have escaped the
misfortune that has befallen you."

All this was not very consolatory to the poor fox, who continued to whine
and cry most piteously, while his grandmother, having finished her
lecture, proceeded to bind up his wounds. Great virtue is supposed to be
added to all medical prescriptions and applications by a little dancing;
so, the dressing having been applied, the grandmother fell to dancing with
all her might, round and round in the lodge.

When she was nearly exhausted, the fox said, "Grandmother, take off the
bandages and see if my legs are healed."

She did as he requested, but no--the burns were still fresh. She danced
and danced again. Now and then, as he grew impatient, she would remove the
coverings to

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observe the effect of the remedies. At length, towards morning, she
looked, and, to be sure, the burns were quite healed. "But, oh!" cried
she, "your legs are as black as a coal! They were so badly burned that
they will never return to their color!"

The poor fox, who, like many another brave, was vain of his legs, fell
into a transport of lamentation.

"Oh! my legs! My pretty red legs! What shall I do? The young girls will
all despise me. I shall never dare to show myself among them again!"

He cried and sobbed until his grandmother, fatigued with her exercise,
fell asleep. By this time he had decided upon his plan of revenge.

He rose and stole softly out of his lodge, and, pursuing his way rapidly
towards the village of the chief, he turned his face in the direction of
the principal lodge and barked. When the inhabitants heard this sound in
the stillness of the night, their hearts trembled. They knew that it
foreboded sorrow and trouble to some one of their number.

A very short time elapsed before the beautiful daughter of the chief fell
sick, and she grew rapidly worse and worse, spite of medicines, charms,
and dances. At length she died. The fox had not intended to bring
misfortune on the village in this shape, for he loved the beautiful
daughter of the chief, so he kept in his lodge and mourned and fretted for
her death.

Preparations were made for a magnificent funeral, but the friends of the
deceased were in great perplexity. "If we bury her in the earth," said
they, "the fox will come and disturb her remains. He has barked her to
death, and he will be glad to come and finish his work of revenge."

They took counsel together, and determined to hang her

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body high in a tree as a place of sepulture. They thought the fox would go
groping about in the earth, and not lift up his eyes to the branches above
his head.

But the grandmother had been at the funeral, and she returned and told the
fox all that had been done.

"Now, my son," said she, "listen to me. Do not meddle with the remains of
the chief's daughter. You have done mischief enough already. Leave her in
peace."

As soon as the grandmother was asleep at night, the fox rambled forth. He
soon found the place he sought, and came and sat under the tree where the
young girl had been placed. He gazed and gazed at her all the livelong
night, and she appeared as beautiful as when in life. But when the day
dawned, and the light enabled him to see more clearly, then he observed
that decay was doing its work--that instead of a beautiful she presented
only a loathsome appearance.

He went home sad and afflicted, and passed all the day mourning in his
lodge.

"Have you disturbed the remains of the chief's beautiful daughter?" was
his parent's anxious question.

"No, grandmother,"--and he uttered not another word.

Thus it went on for many days and nights. The fox always took care to quit
his watch at the early dawn of day, for he knew that her friends would
suspect him, and come betimes to see if all was right.

At length he perceived that, gradually, the young girl looked less and
less hideous in the morning light, and that she by degrees resumed the
appearance she had presented in life, so that in process of time her
beauty and look of health quite returned to her.

One day he said, "Grandmother, give me my pipe, that I may take a smoke."

"Ah!" cried she, "you begin to be comforted. You

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have never smoked since the death of the chief's beautiful daughter. Have
you heard some good news?"

"Never you mind," said he; "bring the pipe."

He sat down and smoked, and smoked. After a time he said, "Grandmother,
sweep your lodge and put it all in order, for this day you will receive a
visit from your daughter-in-law."

The grandmother did as she was desired. She swept her lodge, and arranged
it with all the taste she possessed, and then both sat down to await the
visit.

"When you hear a sound at the door," said the fox, "you must give the
salutation, and say, Come in."

When they had been thus seated for a time, the grandmother heard a faint,
rustling sound. She looked towards the door. To her surprise, the mat
which usually hung as a curtain was rolled up, and the door was open.

"Peen-tee-geen n'dau-nis!"(*) cried she.

Something like a faint, faint shadow appeared to glide in. It took
gradually a more distinct outline. As she looked and looked, she began to
discern the form and features of the chief's beautiful daughter, but it
was long before she appeared like a reality, and took her place in the
lodge like a thing of flesh and blood.

They kept the matter hid very close, for they would not for the world that
the father or friends of the bride should know what had happened. Soon,
however, it began to be rumored about that the chief's beautiful daughter
had returned to life, and was living in the Red Fox's lodge. How it ever
became known was a mystery, for, of course, the grandmother never spoke of
it.

Be that as it may, the news created great excitement in the village. "This
must never be," said they all. "He

(* Come in, my daughter.)

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barked her to death once, and who knows what he may do next time?"

The father took at once a decided part. "The Red Fox is not worthy of my
daughter," he said. "I had promised her to the Hart, the finest and most
elegant among the animals. Now that she has returned to life, I shall keep
my word."

So the friends all went in a body to the lodge of the Red Fox. The
bridegroom, the bride, and the grandmother made all the resistance
possible, but they were overpowered by numbers, and, the Hart having
remained conveniently waiting on the outside where there was no danger,
the beautiful daughter of the chief was placed upon his back, and he
coursed away through the forest to carry her to his own home. When he
arrived at the door of his lodge, however, he turned his head, but no
bride was in the place where he expected to see her. He had thought his
burden very light from the beginning, but that he supposed was natural to
spirits returned from the dead. He never imagined she had at the outset
glided from her seat, and in the midst of the tumult slipped back,
unobserved, to her chosen husband.

One or two attempts were made by the friends, after this, to repossess
themselves of the young creature, but all without success. Then they said,
"Let her remain where she is. It is true the Red Fox occasioned her death,
but by his watchfulness and care he caressed her into life again;
therefore she rightfully belongs to him." So the Red Fox and his beautiful
bride lived long together in great peace and happiness.



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CHAPTER XXX.
STORY OF SHEE-SHEE-BANZE.

There was a young man named Shee-shee-banze (the Little Duck) paddling his
canoe along the shore of the lake.

Two girls came down to the edge of the water, and, seeing him, the elder
said to the younger, "Let us call to him to take us a sail."

It must be remarked that in all Indian stories where two or more sisters
are the dramatis personæ, the elder is invariably represented as silly,
ridiculous, and disgusting--the younger, as wise and beautiful.

In the present case the younger remonstrated. "Oh, no," said she, "let us
not do such a thing. What will he think of us?"

But the other persevered, and called to him, "Ho! come and take us into
your canoe." The young man obeyed, and, approaching the shore, he took
them with him into the canoe.

"Who are you?" asked the elder sister.

"I am Way-gee-mar-kin," replied he, "the great chief."

This Way-gee-mar-kin was something of a fairy, for when surrounded by his
followers, and wishing to confer favors on them, he had a habit of
coughing slightly, when there would fly forth from his mouth quantities of
silver brooches, ear-bobs, and other ornaments, for which it was the
custom of his people to scramble, each striving, as in more civilized
life, to get more than his share.

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Accordingly, the elder sister said, "If you are Way-gee-mar-kin, let us
see you cough."

Shee-shee-banze had a few of these silver ornaments which he had got by
scrambling, and which he kept stowed away in the sides of his mouth in
case of emergency. So he gave some spasmodic coughs and brought forth a
few, which the girl eagerly seized.

After a time, as they paddled along, a fine noble elk came forth from the
forest, and approached the water to drink.

"What is that?" asked the spokeswoman; for the younger sister sat silent
and modest all the time.

"It is my dog that I hunt with."

"Call him to us, that I may see him."

Shee-shee-banze called, but the elk turned and fled into the woods.

"He does not seem to obey you, however."

"No; it is because you inspire him with disgust, and therefore he flies
from you."

Soon a bear made his appearance by the water's edge.

"What is that?"

"One of my servants."

Again he was requested to call him, and, as the call was disregarded, the
same reason as before was assigned.

Their excursion was at length ended. There had been a little magic in it,
for although the young girls had supposed themselves to be in a canoe,
there was, in reality, no canoe at all. They only imagined it to have been
so.

Now, Shee-shee-banze lived with his grandmother, and to her lodge he
conducted his young friends.

They stood outside while he went in.

"Grandmother," said he, "I have brought you two young girls, who will be
your daughters-in-law. Invite them into your lodge."

Page 295

Upon this, the old woman called, "Ho! come in," and they entered. They
were made welcome and treated to the best of everything.

In the mean time, the real Way-gee-mar-kin, the great chief, made
preparations for a grand feast. When he was sending his messenger out with
the invitations, he said to him, "Be very particular to bid Shee-shee-
banze to the feast, for, as he is the smallest and meanest person in the
tribe, you must use double ceremony with him, or he will be apt to think
himself slighted."

Shee-shee-banze was sitting in his lodge with his new friends, when the
messenger arrived.

"Ho! Shee-shee-banze," cried he, "you are invited to a great feast that
Way-gee-mar-kin is to give to-night, to all his subjects."

But Shee-shee-banze took no notice of the invitation. He only whistled,
and pretended not to hear. The messenger repeated his words, then, finding
that no attention was paid to them, he went his way.

The young girls looked at each other, during the scene, greatly
astonished. At length the elder spoke.

"What does this mean?" said she. "Why does he call you Shee-shee-banze,
and invite you to visit Way-gee-mar-kin?"

"Oh," said Shee-shee-banze, "it is one of my followers that always likes
to be a little impudent. I am obliged to put up with it sometimes, but you
observed that I treated him with silent contempt."

The messenger returned to the chief, and reported the manner in which the
invitation had been received.

"Oh," said the good-natured chief, "it is because he feels that he is poor
and insignificant. Go back again--call him by my name, and make a
flourishing speech to him."

Page 296

The messenger fulfilled his mission as he was bid.

"Way-gee-mar-kin," said he, pompously, "a great feast is to be given to-
night, and I am sent most respectfully to solicit the honor of your
company!"

"Did I not tell you?" said Shee-shee-banze to the maidens. Then, nodding
with careless condescension, he added, "Tell them I'll come."

At night, Shee-shee-banze dressed himself in his very best paint,
feathers, and ornaments--but before his departure he took his grandmother
aside.

"Be sure," said he, "that you watch these young people closely until I
come back. Shut up your lodge tight, tight. Let no one come in or go out,
and, above all things, do not go to sleep."

These orders given, he went his way.

The grandmother tried her best to keep awake, but finding herself growing
more and more sleepy, as the night wore on, she took a strong cord and
laced across the mat which hung before the entrance to the lodge, as the
Indians lace up the mouths of their bags, then, having seen all things
secure and the girls quiet in bed, she lay down and soon fell into a
comfortable sleep.

The young girls, in the mean while, were dying with curiosity to know what
had become of Shee-shee-banze, and as soon as they were sure the old lady
was asleep, they prepared to follow him and see what was going on.
Fearing, however, that the grandmother might awake and discover their
absence, they took two logs of wood, and, putting them under the blanket,
so disposed them as to present the appearance of persons sleeping quietly.
They then cut the cords that fastened the door, and, guided by the sounds
of the music, the dancing, and the merrymaking, they soon found their way
to the dwelling of Way-gee-mar-kin.

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When they entered, they saw the chief seated on a throne, surrounded by
light and splendor. Everything was joy and amusement. Crowds of courtiers
were in the apartment, all dressed in the most brilliant array. The
strangers looked around for their friend Shee-shee-banze, but he was
nowhere to be seen.

Now and then the chief would cough, when a shower of silver ornaments and
precious things would fly in all directions, and instantly a scramble
would commence among the company, to gather them up and appropriate them.

As they thus rushed forward, the brides-elect saw their poor little friend
crowded up into a corner, where nobody took any notice of him, except to
push him aside, or step on him whenever he was in the way. He uttered
piteous little squeaks as one and another would thus maltreat him, but he
was too busy taking care of himself to perceive that those whom he had
left snug at home in the lodge were witnesses of all that was going on.

At length the signal was given for the company to retire, all but the two
young damsels, upon whom Way-gee-mar-kin had set his eye, and to whom he
had sent, by one of his assistants, great offers to induce them to remain
with him and become his wives.

Poor Shee-shee-banze returned to his lodge, but what was his consternation
to find the door open!

"Ho! grandmother," cried he, "is this the way you keep watch?"

The old woman started up. "There are my daughters-in-law," said she,
pointing to the two logs of wood. Shee-shee-banze threw himself on the
ground between them. His back was broken by coming so violently in contact
with them, but that he did not mind--he thought only of revenge, and the
recovery of his sweethearts.

Page 298

He waited but to get some powerful poison and prepare it, and then he
stole softly back to the wigwam of Way-gee-mar-kin. All was silent, and he
crept in without making the slightest noise. There lay the chief, with a
young girl on each side of him.

They were all sound asleep, the chief lying on his back, with his mouth
wide open. Before he was aware of it, the poison was down his throat, and
Shee-shee-banze had retreated quietly to his own lodge.

The next morning the cry went through the village that Way-gee-mar-kin had
been found dead in his bed. Of course it was attributed to over-indulgence
at the feast. All was grief and lamentation. "Let us go and tell poor Shee-
shee-banze," said one, "he was so fond of Way-gee-mar-kin."

They found him sitting on a bank, fishing. He had been up at peep of day,
to make preparation for receiving the intelligence.

He had caught two or three fish, and, extracting their bladders, had
filled them with blood, and tied them under his arm. When the friends of
Way-gee-mar-kin saw him, they called out to him,--

"Oh! Shee-shee-banze--your friend, Way-gee-mar-kin, is dead!"

With a gesture of despair, Shee-shee-banze drew his knife and plunged it--
not into his heart, but into the bladders filled with blood that he had
prepared. As he fell, apparently lifeless, to the ground, the messengers
began to reproach themselves: "Oh! why did we tell him so suddenly? We
might have known he would not survive it. Poor Shee-shee-banze! he loved
Way-gee-markin so."

To their great surprise, the day after the funeral, Shee-shee-banze came
walking towards the wigwam of the dead

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chief. As he walked, he sang, or rather chaunted to a monotonous strain,
(*) the following:--

"Way-gee-mar-kin is dead, is dead,
I know who killed him.
I guess it was I--I guess it was I."

All the village was aroused. Everybody flew in pursuit of the murderer,
but he evaded them, and escaped to a place of safety.

Soon after, he again made his appearance, mincing as he walked, and
singing to the same strain as before,--

"If you wish to take and punish me,
Let the widows come and catch me."

It seemed a good idea, and the young women were recommended to go and
entice the culprit into the village, so that the friends of the deceased
could lay hold of him.

They went forth on their errand. Shee-shee-banze would suffer them to
approach, then he would dance off a little--now he would allow them to
come quite near; anon he would retreat a little before them, all the time
singing,

"Come, pretty widows, come and catch me."

Thus he decoyed them on, occasionally using honeyed words and flattering
speeches, until he had gained their consent to return with him to his
lodge, and take up their abode with him.

The friends of the murdered chief were scandalized at such inconstancy,
and resolved to punish all three, as soon as they could catch them.

They surrounded his lodge with cries and threatenings, but Shee-shee-banze
and his two brides had contrived to

(* The Indians sing these words to an air peculiar to themselves.)

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elude their vigilance and gain his canoe, which lay in the river, close at
hand.

Hardly were they on board when their escape was discovered. The whole
troop flew after them. Some plunged into the stream, and seized the canoe.
In the struggle it was upset, but immediately on touching the water,
whether from the magical properties of the canoe, or the necromantic skill
of the grandmother, they were transformed into ducks, and flew quacking
away.

Since that time the water-fowl of this species are always found in
companies of three--two females and a male.

The Canard de France, or Mallard, and the Brancheuse, or Wood Duck, are of
different habits from the foregoing, flying in pairs. Indeed, the
constancy of the latter is said to be so great that if he loses his mate
he never takes another partner, but goes mourning to the end of his days.



CHAPTER XXXI.
A VISIT TO GREEN BAY--MA-ZHEE-GAW-GAW SWAMP.

The payment over, and the Indians dispersed, we prepared ourselves to
settle down quietly in our little home. But now a new source of
disturbance arose.

My husband's accounts of disbursements as Agent of the Winnebagoes, which
he had forwarded to the Department at Washington, had failed to reach
there, of which he received due notice--that is to say, such a notice as

Page 301

could reach us by the circuitous and uncertain mode of conveyance by which
intercourse with the Eastern world was then kept up. If the vouchers for
the former expenditures, together with the recent payment of $15,000
annuity money, should not be forthcoming, it might place him in a very
awkward position; he therefore decided to go at once to Washington, and be
the bearer himself of his duplicate accounts.

"Should you like to go and see your father and mother," said he to me, one
morning, "and show them how the West agrees with you?"

It was a most joyful suggestion after a year's separation, and in a few
days all things were in readiness for our departure.

There was visiting us, at that time, Miss Brush, of Detroit, who had come
from Green Bay with Mr. and Mrs. Whitney and Miss Frances Henshaw, on an
excursion to the Mississippi. Our little India-rubber house had contrived
to expand itself for the accommodation of the whole party during the very
pleasant visit they made us.

The arrival of two young ladies had been, as may be imagined, quite a
godsend to the unmarried lieutenants, and when, tired of the journey, or
intimidated by the snow, which fell eight inches on the 4th of October,
Miss Brush determined to give up the remainder of her excursion, and
accept our pressing invitation to remain with us until the return of her
friends, we were looked upon as public benefactors. She was now to
accompany us to Green Bay, and possibly to Detroit.

Our voyage down the river was without incident, and we reached Green Bay
just as all the place was astir in the expectation of the arrival of one
of Mr. Newbery's schooners. This important event was the subject of
interest to the whole community, from Fort Howard to

Page 302

"Dickenson's." To some its arrival would bring friends, to some supplies--
to the ladies, the fashions, to the gentlemen, the news, for it was the
happy bearer of the mails, not for that place alone, but for all the
"upper country."

In a few days the vessel arrived. She brought a mail for Fort Winnebago,
it being only in the winter season that letters were carried by land to
that place, via Niles's Settlement and Chicago.

In virtue of his office as Postmaster, my husband opened the mail-bag, and
took possession of his own letters. One informed him of the satisfactory
appearance at the Department of the missing accounts, but oh! sad
disappointment, another brought the news that my parents had gone to
Kentucky for the winter--not to any city or accessible place, but "up the
Sandy," and over among the mountains of Virginia, hunting up old land-
claims belonging to my grandfather's estate.

It was vain to hope to follow them. We might hardly expect to find them
during the short period we could be absent from home--not even were we to
receive the lucid directions once given my father by an old settler during
his explorations through that wild region.

"You must go up Tug," said the man, "and down Troublesome, and fall over
on to Kingdom-come."(*)

We did not think it advisable to undertake such an expedition, and
therefore made up our minds to retrace our steps to Fort Winnebago.

No boats were in readiness to ascend the river. Our old friend Hamilton
promised to have one in preparation at once, but time passed by, and no
boat was made ready.

It was now the beginning of November. We were passing our time very
pleasantly with the Irwins and

(* Three streams or water-courses of that region.)

Page 303

Whitneys, and at the residence of Colonel Stambaugh, the Indian Agent, but
still this delay was inconvenient and vexatious.

I suggested undertaking the journey on horseback. "No, indeed," was the
answer I invariably received. "No mortal woman has ever gone that road,
unless it was some native on foot, nor ever could."

"But suppose we set out in the boat and get frozen in on the way. We can
neither pass the winter there, nor possibly find our way to a human
habitation. We have had one similar experience already. Is it not better
to take it for granted that I can do what you and others of your sex have
done?"

Dr. Finley, the post-surgeon at Fort Howard, on hearing the matter
debated, offered me immediately his favorite horse Charlie. "He is very
sure-footed," the doctor alleged, "and capital in a marsh or troublesome
stream."

By land, then, it was decided to go; and as soon as our old Menomonee
friend "Wish-tay-yun," who was as good a guide by land as by water, could
be summoned, we set off, leaving our trunks to be forwarded by Hamilton
whenever it should please him to carry out his intention of sending up his
boat.

We waited until a late hour on the morning of our departure for our fellow-
travellers, Mr. Wing, of Monroe, and Dr. Philleo, of Galena; but, finding
they did not join us, we resolved to lose no time, confident that we
should all meet at the Kakalin in the course of the evening.

After crossing the river at what is now Depere, and entering the wild,
unsettled country on the west of the river, we found a succession of
wooded hills, separated by ravines so narrow and steep that it seemed
impossible that any animals but mules or goats could make their way among
them.

Page 304

Wish-tay-yun took the lead. The horse he rode was accustomed to the
country, and well trained to this style of road. As for Charlie, he was
perfectly admirable. When he came to a precipitous descent, he would set
forward his forefeet, and slide down on his haunches in the most
scientific manner, while my only mode of preserving my balance was to hold
fast by the bridle and lay myself braced almost flat against his back.
Then our position would suddenly change, and we would be scaling the
opposite bank, at the imminent risk of falling backward into the ravine
below.

It was amusing to see Wish-tay-yun, as he scrambled on ahead, now and then
turning partly round to see how I fared. And when, panting and laughing, I
at length reached the summit, he would throw up his hands, and shout, with
the utmost glee, "Mamma Manitou!" (My mother is a spirit.)

Our old acquaintances, the Grignons, seemed much surprised that I should
have ventured on such a journey. They had never undertaken it, although
they had lived so long at the Kakalin; but then there was no reason why
they should have done so. They could always command a canoe or a boat when
they wished to visit "the Bay."

As we had anticipated, our gentlemen joined us at supper. "They had
delayed to take dinner with Colonel Stambaugh--had had a delightful gallop
up from the Bay--had seen no ravines, nor anything but fine smooth roads--
might have been asleep, but, if so, were not conscious of it." This was
the account they gave of themselves, to our no small amusement.

From the Kakalin to the Butte des Morts, where lived a man named Knaggs,
was our next day's stage. The country was rough and wild, much like that
we had passed through the spring before, in going from Hamilton's

Page 305

diggings to Kellogg's Grove, but we were fortunate in having Wish-tay-yun,
rather than "Uncle Billy," for our guide, so that we could make our way
with some degree of moderation.

We had travelled but forty miles when we reached Knaggs's, yet I was both
cold and fatigued, so that the cosy little room in which we found Mrs.
Knaggs, and the bright fire, were most cheering objects; and, as we had
only broken our fast since morning with a few crackers we carried in our
pockets, I must own we did ample justice to her nice coffee and cakes, not
to mention venison-steaks and bear's meat, the latter of which I had never
before tasted.

Our supper over, we looked about for a place of repose. The room in which
we had taken our meal was of small dimensions, just sufficient to
accommodate a bed, a table placed against the wall, and the few chairs on
which we sat. There was no room for any kind of a "shake-down."

"Where can you put us for the night?" inquired my husband of Mr. Knaggs,
when he made his appearance.

"Why, there is no place that I know of, unless you can camp down in the
old building outside."

We went to look at it. It consisted of one room, bare and dirty. A huge
chimney, in which a few brands were burning, occupied nearly one side of
the apartment. Against another was built a rickety sort of bunk. This was
the only vestige of furniture to be seen. The floor was thickly covered
with mud and dirt, in the midst of which, near the fire, was seated an old
Indian with a pan of boiled corn on his lap, which he was scooping up with
both hands and devouring with the utmost voracity.

We soon discovered that he was blind. On hearing footsteps and voices, he
instinctively gathered his dish of

Page 306

food close to him, and began some morose grumblings; but when he was told
that it was "Shaw-nee-aw-kee" who was addressing him, his features relaxed
into a more agreeable expression, and he even held forth his dish and
invited us to share its contents.

"But are we to stay here?" I asked. "Can we not sleep out-of-doors?"

"We have no tent," replied my husband, "and the weather is too cold to
risk the exposure without one."

"I could sit in a chair all night, by the fire."

"Then you would not be able to ride to Bellefontaine to-morrow."

There was no alternative. The only thing Mr. Knaggs could furnish in the
shape of bedding was a small bearskin. The bunk was a trifle less filthy
than the floor; so upon its boards we spread first the skin, then our
saddle-blankets, and, with a pair of saddle-bags for a bolster, I wrapped
myself in my cloak, and resigned myself to my distasteful accommodations.

The change of position from that I had occupied through the day, probably
brought some rest, but sleep I could not. Even on a softer and more
agreeable couch, the snoring of the old Indian and two or three companions
who had joined him, and his frequent querulous exclamations as he felt
himself encroached upon in the darkness, would have effectually banished
slumber from my eyes.

It was a relief to rise with early morning and prepare for the journey of
the day. Where our fellow-travellers had bestowed themselves I knew not,
but they evidently had fared no better than we. They were in fine spirits,
however, and we cheerfully took our breakfast and were ferried over the
river to continue on the trail from that point to Bellefontaine, twelve
miles distant from Fort Winnebago.

Page 307

The great "bug-bear" of this road, Ma-zhee-gaw-gaw Swamp, was the next
thing to be encountered. We reached it about nine o'clock. It spread
before us, a vast expanse of morass, about half a mile in width, and of
length interminable, partly covered with water, with black knobs rising
here and there above the surface, affording a precarious foothold for the
animals in crossing it. Where the water was not, there lay in place of it
a bed of black oozy mud, which looked as if it might give way under the
foot, and let it, at each step, sink to an unknown depth.

This we were now to traverse. All three of the gentlemen went in advance
of me, each hoping, as he said, to select the surest and firmest path for
me to follow. One and another would call, "Here, madam, come this way!"
"This is the best path, wifie; follow me," but often Charlie knew better
than either, and selected a path according to his own judgment, which
proved the best of the whole.

On he went, picking his way so slowly and cautiously, now pausing on one
little hillock, now on another, and anon turning aside to avoid a patch of
mud which seemed more than usually suspicious, that all the company had
got some little distance ahead of me. On raising my eyes, which had been
kept pretty closely on my horse's footsteps, I saw my husband on foot,
striving to lead his horse by the bridle from a difficult position into
which he had got, Mr. Wing and his great white floundering animal lying
sideways in the mud, the rider using all his efforts to extricate himself
from the stirrups, and Dr. Philleo standing at a little distance from his
steed, who was doing his best to rise up from a deep bog into which he had
pitched himself. It was a formidable sight! They all called out with one
accord,--

Page 308

"Oh, do not come this way!"

"Indeed," cried I, "I have no thought of it. Charlie and I know better."
And, trusting to the sagacious creature, he picked his way carefully
along, and carried me safely past the dismounted company. I could not
refrain from a little triumphant flourish with my whip, as I looked back
upon them and watched their progress to their saddles once more.

Three hours had we been thus unpleasantly engaged, and yet we were not
over the "Slough of Despond." At length we drew near its farthest verge.
Here ran a deep stream some five or six feet in width. The gentlemen, as
they reached it, dismounted, and began debating what was to be done.

"Jump off, jump off, madam," cried Mr. Wing, and "Jump off, jump off,"
echoed Dr. Philleo; "we are just consulting how we are to get you across."

"What do you think about it?" asked my husband.

"Charlie will show you," replied I. "Come, Charlie." And as I raised his
bridle quickly, with a pat on his neck and an encouraging chirp, he
bounded over the stream as lightly as a deer, and landed me safe on terra
firma.

Poor Mr. Wing had fared the worst of the company; the clumsy animal he
rode seeming to be of opinion when he got into a difficulty that he had
nothing to do but to lie down and resign himself to his fate; while his
rider, not being particularly light and agile, was generally undermost,
and half imbedded in the mire before he had quite made up his mind as to
his course of action.

It was therefore a wise movement in him, when he reached the little
stream, to plunge into it and wade across, thus washing out, as much as
possible, the traces of the morning's adventures from himself and his
steed; and the

Page 309

other gentlemen, having no alternative, concluded to follow his example.

We did not halt long on the rising ground beyond the morass, for we had a
long stretch before us to Bellefontaine, forty-five miles, and those none
of the shortest.

Our horses travelled admirably the whole afternoon, Charlie keeping a
canter all the way; but it was growing dark, and there were no signs of
the landmarks which were to indicate our near approach to the desired
haven.

"Can we not stop and rest for a few moments under one of the trees?"
inquired I, for I was almost exhausted with fatigue, and, to add to our
discomfort, a cold, November rain was pouring upon us.

"If it were possible, we would," was the reply; "but see how dark it is
growing. If we should lose our way, it would be worse than being wet and
tired."

So we kept on. Just at dark we crossed a clear stream.

"That," said my husband, "is, I think, two miles from Bellefontaine. Cheer
up--we shall soon be there." Quite encouraged, we pursued our way more
cheerfully. Mile after mile we passed, but still no light gleamed friendly
through the trees.

"We have certainly travelled more than six miles now," said I.

"Yes--that could not have been the two-mile creek."

It was eight o'clock when we reached Bellefontaine. We were ushered into a
large room made cheerful by a huge blazing fire. Mr. Wing and Dr. Philleo
had arrived before us, and there were other travellers, on their way from
the Mississippi. I was received with great kindness and volubility by the
immense hostess, "la grosse Americaine," as she was called, and she soon
installed me in the arm-chair, in the warmest corner, and in due time set
an excellent supper before us.

Page 310

But her hospitality did not extend to giving up her only bed for my
accommodation. She spread all the things she could muster on the hard
floor before the fire, and did what she could to make me comfortable;
then, observing my husband's solicitude lest I might feel ill from the
effects of the fatigue and rain, she remarked, in tones of admiring
sympathy, "How kind your companion is to you!"--an expression which, as it
was then new to us, amused us not a little.

Our travelling companions started early in the morning for the Fort, which
was but twelve miles distant, and they were so kind as to take charge of a
note to our friends at home, requesting them to send Plante with the
carriage to take us the rest of the distance.

We reached the Portage in safety; and thus ended the first journey by land
that any white woman had made from Green Bay to Fort Winnebago. I felt not
a little raised in my own esteem when my husband informed me that the
distance I had the previous day travelled, from Knaggs's to Bellefontaine,
was sixty-two miles!



CHAPTER XXXII.
COMMENCEMENT OF THE SAUK WAR.

A Few weeks after our return, my husband took his mother to Prairie du
Chien for the benefit of medical advice from Dr. Beaumont, of the U. S.
Army. The journey was made in a large open boat down the Wisconsin River,
and it was proposed to take this opportunity to bring back a good supply
of corn for the winter's use of both men and cattle.

Page 311

The ice formed in the river, however, so early, that after starting with
his load he was obliged to return with it to the Prairie, and wait until
the thick winter's ice enabled him to make a second journey and bring it
up in sleighs--with so great an expense of time, labor, and exposure were
the necessaries of life conveyed from one point to another through that
wild and desolate region!

The arrival of my brother Arthur from Kentucky, by way of the Mississippi,
in the latter part of April, brought us the uncomfortable intelligence of
new troubles with the Sauks and Foxes. Black Hawk had, with the flower of
his nation, recrossed the Mississippi, once more to take possession of
their old homes and corn-fields.(*)

It was not long before our own Indians came flocking in, to confirm the
tidings, and to assure us of their intention to remain faithful friends to
the Americans. We soon heard of the arrival of the Illinois Rangers in the
Rock River country, also of the progress of the regular force under
General Atkinson, in pursuit of the hostile Indians, who, by the reports,
were always able to elude their vigilance. It not being their custom to
stop and give battle, the Sauks soon scattered themselves through the
country, trusting to some lucky accident (and such arrived, alas! only too
often) to enable them to fall upon their enemies unexpectedly.

The experience of the pursuing army was, for the most part, to make their
way, by toilsome and fatiguing marches, to the spot where they imagined
the Sauks would be waiting to receive them, and then to discover that the
rogues had scampered off to quite a different part of the country.

(* See Appendix.)

Page 312

Wherever these latter went, their course was marked by the most atrocious
barbarities, though the worst had not, at this time, reached our cars. We
were only assured that they were down in the neighborhood of the Rock
River and Kishwaukee, and that they lost no opportunity of falling upon
the defenceless inhabitants and cruelly murdering them.

As soon as it became certain that the Sauks and Foxes would not pursue the
same course they had on the previous year, that is, retreat peaceably
across the Mississippi, Mr. Kinzie resolved to hold a council with all the
principal chiefs of the Winnebagoes who were accessible at this time. He
knew that the Sauks would use every effort to induce their neighbors to
join them, and that there existed in the breasts of too many of the young
savages a desire to distinguish themselves by "taking some white scalps."
They did not love the Americans--why should they? By them they had been
gradually dispossessed of the broad and beautiful domains of their
forefathers, and hunted from place to place, and the only equivalent they
had received in exchange had been a few thousands annually in silver and
presents, together with the pernicious example, the debasing influence,
and the positive ill treatment of too many of the new settlers upon their
lands.

With all these facts in view, therefore, their Father felt that the utmost
watchfulness was necessary, and that the strongest arguments must be
brought forward, to preserve the young men of the Winnebagoes in their
allegiance to the Americans. Of the older members he felt quite sure.
About fifty lodges had come at the commencement of the disturbances and
encamped around our dwelling, saying that if the Sauks attacked us it must
be after killing them; and, knowing them well, we had perfect confidence
in their assurances.

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But their vicinity, while it gave us a feeling of protection, likewise
furnished us with a channel of the most exciting and agitating daily
communications. As the theatre of operations approached nearer and nearer,
intelligence was brought in by their runners--now, that "Captain Harney's
head had been recognized in the Sauk camp, where it had been brought the
day previous," next, that "the Sauks were carrying Lieutenant Beall's head
on a pole in front of them as they marched to meet the whites." Sometimes
it was a story which we afterwards found to be unhappily true, as that of
the murder of their Agent, M. St. Vrain, at Kellogg's Grove, by the Sauks
themselves, who ought to have protected him.

It was after the news of this last occurrence that the appointed council
with the Winnebagoes was to be held at the Four Lakes, thirty-five miles
distant from Fort Winnebago.

In vain we pleaded and remonstrated against such an exposure. "It was his
duty to assemble his people and talk to them," my husband said, "and he
must run the risk, if there were any. He had perfect confidence in the
Winnebagoes. The enemy, by all he could learn, were now far distant from
the Four Lakes--probably at Kosh-ko-nong. He would set off early in the
morning with Paquette, hold his council, and return to us the same
evening."

It were useless to attempt to describe our feelings during that long and
dreary day. When night arrived, the cry of a drunken Indian, or even the
barking of a dog, would fill our hearts with terror.

As we sat, at a late hour, at the open window, listening to every sound,
with what joy did we at length distinguish the tramp of horses! We knew it
to be Griffin and Jerry ascending the hill, and a cheerful shout soon
announced that all was well. My husband and his interpreter had

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ridden seventy miles that day, besides holding a long "talk" with the
Indians.

The Winnebagoes in council had promised to use their utmost endeavors to
preserve peace and good order among their young men. They informed their
Father that the bands on the Rock River, with the exception of Win-no-
sheek's, were all determined to remain friendly and keep aloof from the
Sauks. To that end, they were abandoning their villages and corn-fields
and moving north, that their Great Father, the President, might not feel
dissatisfied with them. With regard to Win-no-sheek and his people, they
professed themselves unable to answer.

Time went on, and brought with it stories of fresh outrages. Among these
were the murders of Auberry, Green, and Force, at Blue Mound, and the
attack on Apple Fort. The tidings of the latter were brought by old Crely,
(*) the father of Mrs. Paquette, who rode express from Galena, and who
averred that he once passed a bush behind which the Sauks were hiding, but
that his horse smelt the sweet-scented grass with which they always adorn
their persons when on a war-party, and set out on such a gallop that he
never stopped until he arrived at the Portage.

Another bearer of news was a young gentleman named Follett, whose eyes had
become so protruded and set from keeping an anxious look-out for the
enemy, that it was many days after his arrival at a place of safety before
they resumed their accustomed limits and expression.

Among other rumors which at this time reached us, was one that an attack
upon Fort Winnebago was in contemplation among the Sauks. That this was in
no state of defence

(* As "the venerable Joseph Crely" has become historic from his claim to
have reached the age of one hundred and thirty-nine years, I will state
that at this period (1832) he was a hale, hearty man of sixty years or
less.)

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the Indians very well knew. All the effective men had been withdrawn, upon
a requisition from General Atkinson, to join him at his newly-built fort
at Kosh-ko-nong.

Fort Winnebago was not picketed in; there were no defences to the barracks
or officers' quarters, except slight panelled doors and Venetian blinds--
nothing that would long resist the blows of clubs or hatchets. There was
no artillery, and the Commissary's store was without the bounds of the
Fort, under the hill.

Mr. Kinzie had, from the first, called the attention of the officers to
the insecurity of their position in case of danger, but he generally
received a scoffing answer.

"Never fear," they would say; "the Sauks are not coming here to attack us."

One afternoon we were over on a visit to some ladies in the garrison, and,
several officers being present, the conversation, as usual, turned upon
the present position of affairs.

"Do you not think it wiser," inquired I of a blustering young officer, "to
be prepared against possible danger?"

"Not against these fellows," replied he, contemptuously. "I do not think I
would even take the trouble to fasten the blinds to my quarters."

"At least," said I, "if you some night find a tomahawk raised to cleave
your skull, you will have the consolation of remembering that you have not
been one of those foolish fellows who keep on the safe side."

He seemed a little nettled at this, and still more so when sister Margaret
observed,--

"For my part, I am of Governor Cass's opinion. He was at Chicago during
the Winnebago war. We were all preparing to move into the fort on the
first alarm. Some were for being brave and delaying, like our friends
here. 'Come, come,' said the Governor, 'hurry into the

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fort as fast as possible--there is no merit in being brave with the
Indians. It is the height of folly to stay and meet danger which you may
by prudence avoid.'"

In a few days our friends waked up to the conviction that something must
be done at once. The first step was to forbid any Winnebago coming within
the garrison, lest they should find out what they had known as well as
ourselves for three months past--namely, the feebleness of the means of
resistance. The next was to send fatigue-parties into the woods, under the
protection of a guard, to cut pickets for inclosing the garrison.

There was every reason to believe that the enemy were not very far
distant, and that their object in coming north was to break a way into the
Chippewa country, where they would find a place of security among their
friends and allies. The story that our Indian runners brought in most
frequently was, that the Sauks were determined to fall upon the whites at
the Portage and Fort, and massacre all, except the families of the Agent
and Interpreter.

Plante and Pillon with their families had departed at the first word of
danger. There only remained with us Manaigre, whose wife was a half-
Winnebago, Isidore Morrin, and the blacksmiths from Sugar Creek--Mata and
Turcotte.

At night we were all regularly armed and our posts assigned us. After
every means had been taken to make the house secure, the orders were
given. Sister Margaret and I, in case of attack, were to mount with the
children to the rooms above, while my husband and his men were to make
good their defence as long as possible against the enemy. Since I had
shown my sportsmanship by bringing down accidentally a blackbird on the
wing, I felt as if I could do some execution with my little pistols, which
were regularly placed beside my pillow at night; and I

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was fully resolved to use them, if necessity required. I do not remember
to have felt the slightest compunction at the idea of taking the lives of
two Sauks, as I had no doubt I should do; and this explains to me what I
had before often wondered at, the indifference, namely, of the soldier on
the field of battle to the destruction of human life Had I been called
upon, however, to use my weapons effectually, I should no doubt have
looked back upon it with horror.

Surrounded as we were by Indian lodges, which seldom became perfectly
quiet, and excited as our nerves had become by all that we were daily in
the habit of hearing, we rarely slept very soundly. One night, after we
had as much as possible composed ourselves, we were startled at a late
hour by a tap upon the window at the head of our bed, and a call of "Chon!
Chon!"(*) (John! John!)

"Tshah-ko-zhah?" (What is it?)

It was Hoo-wau-ne-kah, the Little Elk. He spoke rapidly, and in a tone of
great agitation. I could not understand him, and I lay trembling, and
dreading to hear his errand interpreted. Now and then I could distinguish
the words Sau-kee (Sauks) and Shoonk-hat-tay-rah (horse), and they were
not very reassuring.

The trouble, I soon learned, was this. A fresh trail had been observed
near the Petit Rocher, on the Wisconsin, and the people at the villages on
the Barribault were in a state of great alarm, fearing it might be the
Sauks. There was the appearance of a hundred or more horses having passed
by this trail. Hoo-wau-ne-kah had been

(* The Indians who had "been at Washington" were very fond of calling
their Father thus. Black Wolf's son would go further, and vociferate
"K'hizzie," to show his familiarity.)

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dispatched at once to tell their Father, and to ask his advice.

After listening to all he had to communicate, his Father told him the
trail was undoubtedly that of General Henry's troops, who were said to
have come north, looking for the enemy; that as the marks of the horses'
hoofs showed them, by this report, to have been shod, that was sufficient
proof that it was not the trail of the Sauks. He thought that the people
at the villages need not feel any uneasiness.

"Very well, Father," replied Hoo-wau-ne-kah; "I will go back and tell my
people what you say. They will believe you, for you always tell them the
truth. You are not like us Indians, who sometimes deceive each other." So
saying, he returned to his friends, much comforted.

The completion of the picketing and other defences, together with the
arrival of a detachment of troops from Fort Howard under Lieutenant
Hunter, at our fort, now seemed to render the latter the place of greatest
safety. We therefore regularly, every evening immediately before dusk,
took up our line of march for the opposite side of the river, and repaired
to quarters that had been assigned us within the garrison, leaving our own
house and chattels to the care of the Frenchmen and our friends the
Winnebagoes.

It was on one of these days that we were sitting at the windows which
looked out over the Portage--indeed, we seldom sat anywhere else, our
almost sole occupation being to look abroad and see what was coming next--
when a loud, long, shrill whoop from a distance gave notice of something
to be heard. "The news-halloo! what could it portend? What were we about
to hear?" By gazing intently towards the farthest extremity of the road, we

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could perceive a moving body of horsemen, which, as they approached, we
saw to be Indians. They were in full costume. Scarlet streamers fluttered
at the ends of their lances--their arms glittered in the sun. Presently,
as they drew nearer, their paint and feathers and brooches became visible.
There were fifty or more warriors. They passed the road which turns to the
Fort, and rode directly up the hill leading to the Agency. Shaw-nee-aw-kee
was absent. The Interpreter had been sent for on the first distant
appearance of the strangers, but had not yet arrived. The party, having
ascended the hill, halted near the blacksmith's shop, but did not dismount.

Our hearts trembled--it must surely be the enemy. At this moment my
husband appeared from the direction of the Interpreter's house. We called
to entreat him to stop, but he walked along towards the new-comers.

To our infinite joy, we saw the chief of the party dismount, and all the
others following his example and approaching to shake hands.

A space was soon cleared around the leader and my husband, when the former
commenced an oration, flourishing his sword and using much violent
gesticulation. It was the first time I had seen an Indian armed with that
weapon, and I dreaded to perceive it in such hands. Sometimes he appeared
as if he were about to take off the head of his auditor at a blow; and our
hearts sank as we remembered the stratagems at Mackinac and Detroit in
former days. At length the speech was concluded, another shaking of hands
took place, and we saw my husband leading the way to his storehouse, from
which some of his men presently brought tobacco and pipes and laid them at
the feet of the chief.

Our suspense was soon relieved by being informed that the strangers were
Man-Eater, the principal chief of the

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Rock River Indians, who had come with his band to "hold a talk" and bring
information.

These Indians were under the special care of Mr. Henry Gratiot, and his
efforts had been most judicious and unremitting in preserving the good
feeling of this the most dangerous portion of the Winnebagoes.

The intelligence that Man-Eater, who was a most noble Indian in appearance
and character, brought us, confirmed that already received, namely, that
the Sauks were gradually drawing north, towards the Portage, although he
evidently did not know exactly their whereabouts.

There was, soon after they had taken leave, an arrival of another party of
Winnebagoes, and these requested permission to dance for their Father.

The compliment having been accepted, they assembled, as usual, on the
esplanade in front of the house. My sister, the children, and myself
stationed ourselves at the open windows, according to custom, and my
husband sat on the broad step before the door, which opened from the outer
air directly into the parlor where we were.

The performance commenced, and as the dancers proceeded, following each
other round and round in the progress of the dance, my sister, Mrs. Helm,
remarked to me, "Look at that small, dark Indian, with the green boughs on
his person--that is a Sauk! They always mark themselves in this manner
with white clay, and ornament themselves with leaves when they dance!" In
truth, I had never seen this costume among our own Indians, and as I gazed
at this one with green chaplets round his head and his legs, and even his
gun wreathed in the same manner, while his body displayed no paint except
the white transverse streaks with which it was covered, I saw that he was,
indeed, a stranger. Without owing anything to the exaggeration of fear,
his countenance was truly ferocious.

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He held his gun in his hand, and every time the course of the dance
brought him directly in front of where we sat, he would turn his gaze full
upon us, and club his weapon before him with what we interpreted into an
air of defiance. We sat as still as death, for we knew it would not be
wise to exhibit any appearance of fear; but my sister remarked, in a low
tone, "I have always thought that I was to lose my life by the hands of
the Indians. This is the third Indian war I have gone through, and now, I
suppose, it will be the last."

It was the only time I ever saw her lose her self-possession. She was
always remarkably calm and resolute, but now I could see that she
trembled. Still we sat there--there was a sort of fascination as our
imaginations became more and more excited. Presently some rain-drops began
to fall. The Indians continued their dance for a few minutes longer, then,
with whoopings and shoutings, they rushed simultaneously towards the
house. We fled into my apartment and closed the door, which my sister at
first held fast, but she presently came and seated herself by me on the
bed, for she saw that I could not compose myself. Of all forms of death,
that by the hands of savages is the most difficult to face calmly; and I
fully believed that our hour was come.

There was no interruption to the dance, which the Indians carried on in
the parlor, leaping and yelling as if they would bring down the roof over
our heads. In vain we tried to persuade my husband and the children,
through a crevice of the door, to come and join us. The latter, feeling no
danger, were too much delighted with the exhibition to leave it, and the
former only came for a moment to reassure me, and then judged it wisest to
return, and manifest his satisfaction at the compliment by his presence.
He made light of our fears, and would not

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admit that the object of our suspicions was in fact a Sauk, but only some
young Winnebago, who had, as is sometimes the custom, imitated them in
costume and appearance.

It may have been "good fun" to him to return to his village and tell how
he frightened "the white squaws." Such a trick would not be unnatural in a
white youth, and perhaps, since human nature is everywhere the same, it
might not be out of the way in an Indian.



CHAPTER XXXIII.
FLEEING FROM THE INDIANS.

The danger had now become so imminent that my husband determined to send
his family to Fort Howard, a point which was believed to be far out of the
range of the enemy. It was in vain that I pleaded to be permitted to
remain; he was firm.

"I must not leave my post," said he, "while there is any danger. My
departure would perhaps be the signal for an immediate alliance of the
Winnebagoes with the Sauks. I am certain that as long as I am here my
presence will act as a restraint upon them. You wish to remain and share
my dangers! Your doing so would expose us both to certain destruction in
case of attack. By the aid of my friends in both tribes, I could hope to
preserve my own life if I were alone; but surrounded by my family, that
would be impossible--we should all fall victims together. My duty plainly
is, to send you to a place of safety."

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An opportunity for doing this soon occurred. Paquette, the Interpreter,
who was likewise an agent of the American Fur Company, had occasion to
send a boat-load of furs to Green Bay, on their way to Mackinac. Mr.
Kinzie, having seen it as comfortably fitted up as an open boat of that
description could be, with a tent-cloth fastened on a frame-work of hoop-
poles over the centre and lined with a dark-green blanket, and having
placed on board an abundant store of provisions and other comforts,
committed us to the joint care of my brother Arthur and our faithful
blacksmith, Mata.

This latter was a tall, gaunt Frenchman, with a freckled face, a profusion
of crisp, sandy hair, and an inveterate propensity to speak English. His
knowledge of the language was somewhat limited, and he burlesqued it by
adding an s to almost every word, and giving out each phrase with a jerk.

"Davids," he was wont to say to the little yellow fiddler, after an
evening's frolic at the Interpreter's, "Davids, clear away the tables and
the glasses, and play fishes-hornspikes."(*) He was a kind, affectionate
creature, and his devotion to "Monsieur Johns" and "Madame Johns" knew no
bounds.

Besides these two protectors, three trusty Indians, the chief of whom was
called Old Smoker, were engaged to escort our party. The crew of the boat
consisted entirely of French engages in the service of the Fur Company.
They were six gay-hearted, merry fellows, lightening their labor with
their pipe and their songs, in which latter they would have esteemed it a
great compliment to be joined by the ladies who listened to them; but our
hearts,

(* Fisher's Hornpipe.)

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alas! were now too heavy to participate in their enjoyment.

The Fourth of July, the day on which we left our home, was a gloomy one
indeed to those who departed and to the one left behind. Who knew if we
should ever meet again? The experience which some of the circle had had in
Indian warfare was such as to justify the saddest forebodings. There was
not even the consolation of a certainty that this step would secure our
safety. The Sauks might, possibly, be on the other side of us, and the
route we were taking might perhaps, though not probably, carry us into
their very midst. It was no wonder, then, that our leave-taking was a
solemn one--a parting which all felt might be for this world.

Not all, however; for the gay, cheerful Frenchmen laughed and sang and
cracked their jokes, and "assured Monsieur John that they would take
Madame John and Madame Alum safe to the bay, spite of Sauks or wind or
weather."

Thus we set out on our journey. For many miles the Fort was in sight, as
the course of the river alternately approached and receded from its walls,
and it was not until nearly mid-day that we caught the last glimpse of our
home.

At the noon-tide meal, or pipe, of the voyageurs, an alarming discovery
was made: no bread had been put on board for the crew! How this oversight
had occurred, no one could tell. One was certain that a large quantity had
been brought from the garrison-bakery for their use that very morning--
another had even seen the sacks of loaves standing in Paquette's kitchen.
Be that as it may, there we were, many miles on our journey, and with no
provisions for the six Frenchmen, except some salted pork, a few beans,
and some onions. A consultation was held in

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this emergency. Should they return to the Portage for supplies? The same
danger that made their departure necessary, still existed, and the utmost
dispatch had been enjoined upon them. We found upon examination that the
store of bread and crackers with which our party had been provided was far
beyond what we could possibly require, and we thought it would be
sufficient to allow of rations to the Frenchmen until we should reach
Powell's, at the Butte des Morts, the day but one following, where we
should undoubtedly be able to procure a fresh supply.

This decided on, we proceeded on our journey, always in profound silence,
for a song or a loud laugh was now strictly prohibited until we should
have passed the utmost limits of country where the enemy might possibly
be. We had been warned beforehand that a certain point, where the low
marshy meadows, through which the river had hitherto run, rises into a
more firm and elevated country, was the border of the Menomonee territory,
and the spot where the Sauks, if they had fled north of the Wisconsin
towards the Chippewa country, would be most likely to be encountered

As we received intimation on the forenoon of the second day that we were
drawing near this spot, I must confess that "we held our breath for awe."

The three Winnebagoes were in the bow of the boat. Old Smoker, the chief,
squatted upon his feet on the bench of the foremost rowers. We looked at
him. He was gazing intently in the direction of the wooded point we were
approaching. Our eyes followed his, and we saw three Indians step forward
and stand upon the bank. We said in a low voice to each other, "If they
are Sauks, we are lost, for the whole body must be in that thicket." The
boat continued to approach; not a word was spoken; the dip of the paddle,
and perhaps the beating hearts of some,

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were the only sounds that broke the stillness. Again we looked at the
chief. His nostrils were dilated--his eyes almost glaring.

Suddenly, with a bound, he sprang to his feet and uttered his long, shrill
whoop.

"Hoh! hoh! hoh! Neechee (friend) Muh-no-mo-nee!"

All was now joy and gladness. Every one was forward to shake hands with
the strangers as soon as we could reach them, in token of our satisfaction
that they were Menomonees and not Sauks, of the latter of whom, by the
way, they could give us no intelligence.

By noon of that day we considered ourselves to be out of the region of
danger. Still, caution was deemed necessary, and when at the mid-day pipe
the boat was pushed ashore under a beautiful overhanging bank, crowned
with a thick wood, the usual vigilance was somewhat relaxed, and the young
people, under the escort of Arthur and Mata, were permitted to roam about
a little, in the vicinity of the boat.

They soon came back with the report that the woods were "alive with
pigeons,"--they could almost knock them down with sticks; and earnestly
did they plead to be allowed to shoot at least enough for supper. But no--
the enemy might be nearer than we imagined--the firing of a gun would
betray our whereabouts--it was most prudent to give no notice to friend or
foe. So, very reluctantly, they were compelled to return to the boat
without their game.

The next morning brought us to Powell's, at the Butte des Morts. Sad were
the faces of the poor Frenchmen at learning that not a loaf of bread was
to be had. Our own store, too, was by this time quite exhausted. The only
substitute we could obtain was a bag of dark-looking, bitter flour. With
this provision for our whole party, we

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were forced to be contented, and we left the Hillock of the Dead, feeling
that it had been indeed the grave of our hopes.

By dint of good rowing, our crew soon brought us to the spot where the
river enters that beautiful sheet of water, Winnebago Lake. Though there
was but little wind when we reached the lake, the Frenchmen hoisted their
sail, in hopes to save themselves the labor of rowing across; but in vain
did they whistle, with all the force of their lungs--in vain did they
supplicate La Vierge, with a comical mixture of fun and reverence. As a
last resource, it was at length suggested by some one that their only
chance lay in propitiating the goddess of the winds with an offering of
some cast-off garment.

Application was made all round by Guardapie, the chief spokesman of the
crew. Alas! not one of the poor voyageurs could boast a spare article. A
few old rags were at length rummaged out of the little receptacle of food,
clothing, and dirt in the bow of the boat, and cast into the waves. For a
moment all flattered themselves that the experiment had been successful--
the sail fluttered, swelled a little, and then flapped idly down against
the mast. The party were in despair, until, after a whispered consultation
together, Julian and Edwin stepped forward as messengers of mercy. In a
trice they divested themselves of jacket and vest and made a proffer of
their next garment to aid in raising the wind.

At first there seemed a doubt in the minds of the boatmen whether they
ought to accept so magnificent an offer; but finding, on giving them a
preparatory shake, that the value of the contribution was less than they
had imagined, they, with many shouts and much laughter, consigned them to
the waves. To the great delight and astonishment of the boys, a breeze at
this moment sprung

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up, which carried the little vessel beautifully over the waters for about
half the distance to Garlic Island. By this time the charm was exhausted,
nor was it found possible to renew it by a repetition of similar
offerings. All expedients were tried without success, and, with sundry
rather disrespectful reflections upon the lady whose aid they had invoked,
the Frenchmen were compelled to betake themselves to their oars, until
they reached the island.

Two or three canoes of Winnebagoes arrived at the same moment, and their
owners immediately stepped forward with an offering of some sturgeon which
they had caught in the lake. As this promised to be an agreeable variety
to the noon-tide meal (at least for the Frenchmen), it was decided to stop
and kindle a fire for the purpose of cooking it. We took advantage of this
interval to recommend to the boys a stroll to the opposite side of the
island, where the clear, shallow water and pebbly beach offered temptation
to a refreshing bath. While they availed themselves of this, under the
supervision of Harry, the black boy, we amused ourselves with gathering
the fine red raspberries with which the island abounded.

Our enjoyment was cut short, however, by discovering that the whole place,
vines, shrubs, and even, apparently, the earth itself, was infested with
myriads of the wood-tick, a little insect, that, having fastened to the
skin, penetrates into the very flesh, causing a swelling and irritation
exceeding painful, and even dangerous. The alarm was sounded, to bring the
boys back in all haste to the open and more frequented part of the island.
But we soon found we had not left our tormentors behind. Throughout the
day we continued to be sensible of their proximity. From the effects of
their attacks we were not relieved for several succeeding days; those
which had

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succeeded in burying themselves in the flesh having to be removed with the
point of a penknife or a large needle. After partaking of our dinner, we
stepped on board our boat, and, the wind having risen, we were carried by
the breeze to the farther verge of the lake, and into the entrance of the
river, or, as it was called, the Winnebago Rapids.

On the point of land to the right stood a collection of neat bark wigwams--
this was Four-Legs' village.

It was an exciting and somewhat hazardous passage down the rapids and over
the Grand Chute, a fall of several feet; but it was safely passed, and at
the approach of evening the boat reached the settlement of the Waubanakees
at the head of the Little Chute. These are the Stockbridge or Brothertown
Indians, the remains of the old Mohicans, who had, a few years before,
emigrated from Oneida County, in the State of New York, to a tract granted
them by the United States, on the fertile banks of the Fox River. They had
already cleared extensive openings in the forest, and built some
substantial and comfortable houses near the banks of the river, which were
here quite high, and covered for the most part with gigantic trees.

It was determined to ask hospitality of these people, to the extent of
borrowing a corner of their fire to boil our tea-kettle, and bake the
short-cake which had been now, for nearly two days, our substitute for
bread. Its manufacture had been a subject of much merriment. The
ingredients, consisting of Powell's black flour, some salt, and a little
butter, were mixed in the tin box which had held our meat. This was then
reversed, and, having been properly cleansed, supplied the place of a
dough-board. The vinegar-bottle served the office of rolling-pin, and a
shallow tin dish formed the appliance for baking. The

Page 330

Waubanakees were so good as to lend us an iron bake-kettle, and
superintend the cooking of our cake after Harry had carried it up to their
dwelling.

So kind and hospitable did they show themselves, that the crew of the boat
took the resolution of asking a lodging on shore, by way of relief after
their crowded quarters in the boat for the last three nights. Arthur and
Mata soon adopted the same idea, and we were invited to follow their
example, with the assurance that the houses were extremely neat and
orderly.

We preferred, however, as it was a fine night, and all things were so
comfortably arranged in the boat, to remain on board, keeping Edwin and
Josette with us.

The boat was tightly moored, for the little Chute was just below, and if
our craft should break loose in the rapid current, and drift down over the
falls, it would be a very serious matter. As an additional precaution, one
man was left on board to keep all things safe and in order, and, these
arrangements having been made, the others ascended the bank, and took up
their night's lodgings in the Waubanakee cabins.

It was a beautiful, calm, moonlight night, the air just sufficiently warm
to be agreeable, while the gentle murmur of the rapids and of the fall, at
no great distance, soon lulled our party to repose. How long we had
slumbered we knew not, when we were aroused by a rushing wind. It bent the
poles supporting the awning, snapped them, and, another gust succeeding,
tent and blanket were carried away on the blast down the stream. The
moonlight was gone, but a flash of lightning showed them sailing away like
a spectre in the distance.

The storm increased in violence. The rain began to pour in torrents, and
the thunder and lightning to succeed each other in fearful rapidity. My
sister sprang to waken

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the Frenchman. "Get up, Vitelle, quick," cried she, in French, "run up the
bank for Mata and Mr. Arthur--tell them to come and get us instantly."

The man made her no reply, but fell upon his knees, invoking the Virgin
most vociferously.

"Do not wait for the Virgin, but go as quickly as possible. Do you not see
we shall all be killed?"

"Oh! not for the world, madame, not for the world," said Vitelle, burying
his head in a pack of furs, "would I go up that bank in this storm." And
here he began crying most lustily to all the saints in the calendar.

It was indeed awful. The roaring of the thunder and the flashing of the
lightning around us were like the continued discharge of a park of
artillery. I with some difficulty drew forth my cloak, and enveloped
myself and Josette--sister Margaret did the same with Edwin.

"Oh! madame," said the poor little girl, her teeth chattering with cold
and fright, "won't we be drowned?"

"Very well," said my sister to the Frenchman, "you see that Madame John is
at the last agony--if you will not go for help I must, and Monsieur John
must know that you left his wife to perish."

This was too much for Vitelle. "If I must, I must," said he, and with a
desperate bound he leaped on shore and sped up the hill with might and
main.

In a few minutes, though it seemed ages to us, a whole posse came flying
down the hill. The incessant lightning made all things appear as in the
glare of day. Mata's curly hair fairly stood on end, and his eyes rolled
with ghastly astonishment at the spectacle.

"Oh, my God, Madame Johns! what would Monsieur Johns say, to see you
nows?" exclaimed he, as he seized me in his arms and bore me up the hill.
Arthur followed with sister Margaret, and two others with Edwin and

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Josette. Nobody carried Vitelle, for he had taken care not to risk his
precious life by venturing again to the boat.

On arriving at the cabin where Arthur and Mata had been lodged, a fire
was, with some difficulty, kindled, and our trunks having been brought up
from the boat, we were at length able to exchange our drenched garments,
and those of the children, for others more comfortable, after which we
laid ourselves upon the clean but homely bed, and slept until daylight.

As it was necessary to ascertain what degree of damage the cargo of furs
had sustained, an early start was proposed. Apparently, the inhabitants of
the cottages had become weary in well-doing, for they declined preparing
breakfast for us, although we assured them they should be well compensated
for their trouble. We, consequently, saw ourselves compelled to depart
with very slender prospects of a morning meal.

When we reached the boat, what a scene presented itself! Bedclothes,
cloaks, trunks, mess-basket, packs of furs, all bearing the marks of a
complete deluge! The boat ankle-deep in water--literally no place on board
where we could either stand or sit. After some baling out, and an attempt
at disposing some of the packs of furs which had suffered least from the
flood, so as to form a sort of divan in the centre of the boat, nothing
better seemed to offer than to re-embark, and endure what could not be
cured.

Our position was not an enviable one. Wherever a foot or hand was placed,
the water gushed up, with a bubbling sound, and, oh! the state of the
bandboxes and work-baskets! Breakfast there was none, for on examining the
mess-basket everything it contained was found mingled in one
undistinguishable mass. Tea, pepper, salt, short-cake, all floating
together--it was a hopeless case.

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But this was not the worst. As the fervid July sun rose higher in the
heavens, the steam which exhaled from every object on board was nearly
suffocating. The boat was old--the packs of skins were old--their vicinity
in a dry day had been anything but agreeable--now it was intolerable.
There was no retreating from it, however; so we encouraged the children to
arm themselves with patience, for the short time that yet remained of our
voyage.

Seated on our odoriferous couch, beneath the shade of a single umbrella,
to protect our whole party from the scorching sun, we glided wearily down
the stream, through that long, tedious day. As we passed successively the
Kakalin, the Rapids, Dickenson's, the Agency, with what longing eyes did
we gaze at human habitations, where others were enjoying the shelter of a
roof and the comforts of food--and how eagerly did we count the hours
which must elapse before we could reach Fort Howard!

There were no songs from the poor Frenchmen this day. Music and fasting do
not go well together. At length we stopped at Shanty-town, where the boat
was to be unloaded. All hands fell to work to transfer the cargo to the
warehouse of the Fur Company, which stood near the landing. It was not a
long operation, for all worked heartily. This being accomplished, the
voyageurs, one and all, prepared to take their leave. In vain Mata stormed
and raved--in vain Arthur remonstrated.

"No," they said,"they had brought the boat and cargo to the warehouse--
that was all of their job." And they turned to go.

"Guardapie," said I, "do you intend to leave us here?"

"Bien, madame! it is the place we always stop at."

"Does Monsieur John pay you for bringing his family down?"

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"Oh, yes, Monsieur John has given us an order on the sutler, at the Fort
down below."

"To be paid when you deliver us safe at the Fort down below. It seems I
shall be there before you, and I shall arrange that matter. Monsieur John
never dreamed that this would be your conduct."

The Frenchmen consulted together, and the result was that Guardapie with
two others jumped into the boat, took their oars, and rather sulkily rowed
us the remaining two miles to Fort Howard.