Their amusement at the awkward movements of the horses after they were spancelled knew no bounds. To Edwin everything was new, and Josette, who had already made more than one horseback journey to St. Joseph’s, manifested all the pride of an old traveller in explaining to him whatever was novel or unaccountable.

They were not the last to spring up at the call “how! how!” on the following morning.

The fire was replenished, the preparations for breakfast commenced, and the Frenchmen dispatched to bring up the horses in readiness for an early start.

Harry and Josette played their parts, under our direction, in preparing the simple meal, and we soon seated ourselves, each with cup and knife, around the table-mat. The meal was over, but no men, no horses appeared. When another half-hour had passed, my husband took Harry and commenced exploring in search of the missing ones.

The day wore on, and first one of them and then another would make his appearance to report progress. Petaille and Lecuyer at length brought two of the horses, but the others could nowhere be found. In time, Mr. Kinzie and Harry returned, wet to their knees by the dew upon the long prairie grass, but with no tidings. Again the men were dispatched after having broken their fast, but returned as unsuccessful as before.

The morning had been occupied by our party at the encampment in speculating upon the missing animals.

Could they have been stolen by the Indians? Hardly—these people seldom committed robberies in time of peace—never upon our family, whom they regarded as their best friends. The horses would doubtless be found. They had probably been carelessly fastened the preceding evening, and therefore been able to stray further than was their wont.

A council was held, at which it was decided to send Grignon back to Chicago to get some fresh horses from Gholson Kercheval, and return as speedily as possible. If on his return our encampment were deserted, he might conclude we had found the horses and proceeded to Fox River, where he would doubtless overtake us.

Upon reflection, it was thought best to send him once more in the direction of Salt Creek, when, if still unsuccessful, the former alternative could be adopted.

He had not been gone more than an hour, before, slowly hopping out of a point of woods to the north of us (a spot which each of the seekers averred he had explored over and over again), and making directly for the place where we were, appeared the vexatious animals. They came up as demurely as if nothing had happened, and seemed rather surprised to be received with a hearty scolding, instead of being patted and caressed as usual.

It was the work of a very short half hour to strike and pack the tent, stow away the mats and kettles, saddle the horses and mount for our journey.

“Whoever pleases may take my place in the carriage,” said our mother. “I have travelled so many years on horseback, that I find any other mode of conveyance too fatiguing.”

So, spite of her sixty years, she mounted sister Margaret’s pacer with the activity of a girl of sixteen.

Lieut. Foster had left us early in the morning, feeling it necessary to rejoin his command, and now, having seen us ready to set off, with a serene sky above us, and all things “right and tight” for the journey, our friend the Sau-ga-nash took leave of us, and retraced his steps towards Chicago.

We pursued our way through a lovely country of alternate glade and forest, until we reached the Fox River.[76] The current ran clear and rippling along, and as we descended the steep bank to the water, the question, so natural to a traveller in an unknown region, presented itself, “Is it fordable?”

Petaille, to whom the ground was familiar, had not yet made his appearance. Lecuyer was quite ignorant upon the subject. The troops had evidently preceded us by this very trail. True, but they were on horseback—the difficulty was, could we get the carriage through? It must be remembered, that the doubt was not about the depth of the water, but about the hardness of the bottom of the stream.

It was agreed that two or three of the equestrians should make the trial first. My mother, Lecuyer and myself advanced cautiously across to the opposite bank, each choosing a different point for leaving the water, in order to find the firmest spot. The bottom was hard and firm until we came near the shore, then it yielded a little. With one step, however, we were each on dry ground.

“Est-il beau?” called my husband, who was driving.

“Oui, Monsieur.”

“Yes, John, come just here, it is perfectly good.”

“No, no—go a little further down. See the white gravel just there—it will be firmer still, there.”

Such were the contradictory directions given. He chose the latter, and when it wanted but one step more to the bank, down sunk both horses, until little more than their backs were visible.

The white gravel proved to be a bed of treacherous yellow clay, which gleaming through the water, had caused so unfortunate a deception.

With frantic struggles, for they were nearly suffocated with mud and water, the horses made desperate efforts to free themselves from the harness. My husband sprang out upon the pole. “Some one give me a knife,” he cried. I was back in the water in a moment, and approaching as near as I dared, handed him mine from the scabbard around my neck.

“Whatever you do, do not cut the traces,” cried his mother.

He severed some of the side-straps, when just as he had reached the extremity of the pole, and was stretching forward to separate the head-couplings, one of the horses gave a furious plunge, which caused his fellow to rear and throw himself nearly backwards. My husband was between them. For a moment we thought he was gone—trampled down by the excited animals, but he presently showed himself, nearly obscured by the mud and water. With the agility of a cat, Harry, who was near him, now sprung forward on the pole, and in an instant, with his sharp jack-knife which he had ready, divided the straps that confined their heads.

The horses were at this moment lying floating on the water—one apparently dead, the other as if gasping out his last breath. But hardly did they become sensible of the release of their heads from bondage than they made, simultaneously, another furious effort to free themselves from the pole to which they were still attached by the neck-strap.

Failing in this, they tried another expedient, and by a few judicious twists and turns, succeeded in wrenching the pole asunder, and finally carried it off in triumph across the river again, and up the bank, where they stood waiting to decide what were the next steps to be taken.

Here was a predicament! A few hours before we had thought ourselves uncomfortable enough, because some of our horses were missing. Now, a greater evil had befallen us. The wagon was in the river, the harness cut to pieces, and, what was worse, carried off in the most independent manner, by Tom and his companion; the pole was twisted to pieces, and there was not so much as a stick on that side of the river with which to replace it.

At this moment, a whoop from the opposite bank, echoed by two or three hearty ones from our party, announced the reappearance of Petaille Grignon. He dismounted and took charge of the horses, who were resting themselves after their fatigues under a shady tree, and by this time Lecuyer had crossed the river and now joined him in bringing back the delinquents.

In the meantime we had been doing our best to minister to our sister Margaret. Both she and her little son Edwin had been in the wagon at the time of the accident, and it had been a work of some difficulty to get them out and bring them on horseback to shore. The effect of the agitation and excitement was to throw her into a fit of the ague, and she now lay blue and trembling among the long grass of the little prairie, which extended along the bank. The tent, which had been packed in the rear of the wagon, was too much saturated with mud and water to admit of its being used as a shelter; it could only be stretched in the sun to dry. We opened an umbrella over our poor sister’s head, and now began a discussion of ways and means to repair damages. The first thing was to cut a new pole for the wagon, and for this, the master and men must recross the river and choose an iron-tree out of the forest.

Then, for the harness. With provident care, a little box had been placed under the seat of the wagon, containing an awl, waxed-ends, and various other little conveniences exactly suited to an emergency like the present.

It was question and answer, like Cock Robin:

“Who can mend the harness?”

“I can, for I learned when I was a young girl to make shoes as an accomplishment, and I can surely now, as a matter of usefulness and duty, put all those wet, dirty pieces of leather together.”

So, we all seated ourselves on the grass, under the shade of the only two umbrellas we could muster.

I stitched away diligently, blistering my hands, I must own, in no small degree.

A suitable young tree had been brought, and the hatchets, without which one never travels in the woods, were all busy, fashioning it into shape, when a peculiar hissing noise was heard, and instantly the cry,

“Un serpent sonnette! A rattlesnake!”

All sprang to their feet, even the poor shaking invalid, just in time to see the reptile glide past within three inches of my mother’s feet, while the men assailed the spot it had left with whips, missives, and whatever would help along the commotion.

This little incident proved an excellent remedy for the ague. One excitement drives away another, and by means of this, (upon the homœopathic principle), sister Margaret was so much improved that by the time all the mischiefs were repaired, she was ready to take her place in the cavalcade, as bright and cheerful as the rest of us.

So great had been the delay occasioned by all these untoward circumstances, that our afternoon’s ride was but a short one, bringing us no further than the shores of a beautiful sheet of water, now known as Crystal Lake. Its clear surface was covered with Loons, and Poules d’Eau, a species of Rail, with which, at certain seasons, this region abounds.

The Indians have, universally, the genius of Æsop for depicting animal life and character, and there is, among them, a fable illustrative of every peculiarity in the personal appearance, habits, or dispositions of each variety of the animal creation.

The back of the little Rail is very concave, or hollow. The Indians tell us it became so in the following manner:—

STORY OF THE LITTLE RAIL, OR POULE D’EAU.

There is supposed, by most of the North-western tribes, to exist an invisible being, corresponding to the “Genius” of oriental story. Without being exactly the father of evil, Nan-nee-bo-zho is a mischievous spirit, to whose office it seems to be assigned to punish what is amiss. For his own purposes too, he seems constantly occupied in entrapping and making examples of all the animals that come in his way.

One pleasant evening, as he walked along the banks of a lake, he saw a flock of ducks, sailing and enjoying themselves on the blue waters. He called to them:

“Ho! come with me into my lodge, and I will teach you to dance!” Some of the ducks said among themselves, “It is Nan-nee-bo-zho, let us not go.” Others were of a contrary opinion, and his words being fair, and his voice insinuating, a few turned their faces towards the land—all the rest soon followed, and with many pleasant quackings, trooped after him, and entered his lodge.

When there, he first took an Indian sack, with a wide mouth, which he tied by the strings around his neck, so that it would hang over his shoulders, having the mouth unclosed. Then placing himself in the centre of the lodge, he ranged the ducks in a circle around him.

“Now,” said he, “you must all shut your eyes tight, whoever opens his eyes at all, something dreadful will happen to him. I will take my Indian flute and play upon it, and you will, at the word I shall give, open your eyes, and commence dancing, as you see me do.”

The ducks obeyed, shutting their eyes tight, and keeping time to the music by stepping from one foot to the other, all impatient for the dancing to begin.

Presently a sound was heard like a smothered “quack,” but the ducks did not dare to open their eyes.

Again, and again, the sound of the flute would be interrupted, and a gurgling cry of “qu-a-a-ck” be heard. There was one little duck, much smaller than the rest, who, at this juncture, could not resist the temptation to open one eye, cautiously. She saw Nan-nee-bo-zho, as he played his flute, holding it with one hand, stoop a little at intervals and seize the duck nearest him, which he throttled and stuffed into the bag on his shoulders. So, edging a little out of the circle, and getting nearer the door which had been left partly open to admit the light, she cried out:

“Open your eyes—Nan-nee-bo-zho is choking you all and putting you into his bag!”

With that she flew, but the Nan-nee-bo-zho pounced upon her. His hand grasped her back, yet, with desperate force, she released herself and gained the open air. Her companions flew, quacking and screaming after her. Some escaped, and some fell victims to the sprite.

The little duck had saved her life, but she had lost her beauty. She ever after retained the attitude she had been forced into, in her moment of danger—her back pressed down in the centre, and her head and neck unnaturally stretched forward into the air.

CHAPTER XXV

RETURN JOURNEY CONTINUED

The third day of our journey rose brilliantly clear, like the two preceding ones, and we shaped our course more to the north than we had hitherto done, in the direction of Big-foot lake, now known by the somewhat hackneyed appellation. Lake of Geneva.

Our journey this day was without mishaps or disasters of any kind. The air was balmy, the foliage of the forests fresh and fragrant, the little brooks clear and sparkling—everything in nature spoke the praises of the beneficent Creator.

It is in scenes like this, far removed from the bustle, the strife, and the sin of civilized life, that we most fully realize the presence of the great Author of the Universe. Here can the mind most fully adore his majesty and goodness, for here only is the command obeyed, “Let all the earth keep silence before Him!”

It cannot escape observation that the deepest and most solemn devotion is in the hearts of those who, shut out from the worship of God in temples made with hands, are led to commune with him amid the boundless magnificence that his own power has framed.

This day was not wholly without incident. As we stopped for our noon-tide refreshment, and dismounting threw ourselves on the fresh herbage just at the verge of a pleasant thicket, we were startled by a tender bleating near us, and breaking its way through the low branches, there came upon us a sweet little dappled fawn, evidently in search of its mother. It did not seem in the least frightened at the sight of us. As poor Selkirk might have parodied,

But the vociferous delight of the children soon drove it bounding again into the woods, and all hopes of catching it for a pet were at once at an end.

We had travelled well this day, and were beginning to feel somewhat fatigued when, just before sunset, we came upon a ridge, overlooking one of the loveliest little dells imaginable. It was an oak opening, and browsing under the shade of the tall trees which were scattered around, were the cattle and horses of the soldiers who had got thus far on their journey. Two or three white tents were pitched in the bottom of the valley, beside a clear stream. The camp-fires were already lighted, and the men, singly or in groups, were dispersed at their various preparations for their own comfort, or that of their animals.

Lieut. Foster came forward[77] with great delight to welcome our arrival, and accepted without hesitation an invitation to join our mess again, as long as we should be together.

We soon found a pleasant encamping-ground, far enough removed from the other party to secure us against all inconvenience, and our supper having received the addition of a kettle of fine fresh milk, kindly brought us by Mrs. Gardiner, the hospital matron, who with her little covered cart formed no unimportant feature in the military group, we partook of our evening meal with much hilarity and enjoyment.

If people are ever companionable, it is when thrown together under circumstances like the present. There has always been sufficient incident through the day to furnish a theme for discourse, and subject of merriment, as long as the company feel disposed for conversation, which is, truth to tell, not an unconscionable length of time after their supper is over.

The poor Lieutenant looked grave enough when we sat out in advance of him the next morning. None of his party were acquainted with the road, but after giving him directions both general and particular, Mr. Kinzie promised to blaze a tree, or set up a chip for a guide, at every place which appeared unusually doubtful.

We now found ourselves in a much more diversified country than any we had hitherto travelled. Gently swelling hills, and lovely valleys, and bright sparkling streams were the features of the landscape. But there was little animate life. Now and then, a shout from the leader of the party, (for, according to custom, we travelled Indian file), would call our attention to a herd of deer “loping,” as the westerners say, through the forest; or, an additional spur would be given to the horses on the appearance of some small dark object, far distant on the trail before us. But the game invariably contrived to disappear before we could reach it, and it was out of the question to leave the beaten track for a regular hunt.

Soon after mid-day, we descended a long, sloping knoll, and by a sudden turn came full in view of the beautiful sheet of water denominated Gros-pied by the French, Maunk-suck by the natives, and by ourselves Big-foot, from the chief, whose village overlooked its waters. Bold, swelling hills jutted forward into the clear blue expanse, or retreated slightly to afford a green, level nook, as a resting-place for the foot of man. On the nearer shore stretched a bright, gravelly beach, through which coursed here and there a pure, sparkling rivulet to join the larger sheet of water.

On a rising ground, at the foot of one of the bold bluffs in the middle distance, a collection of neat wigwams formed, with their surrounding gardens, no unpleasant feature in the picture.

A shout of delight burst involuntarily from the whole party, as this charming landscape met our view. “It was like the Hudson, only less bold—no, it was like the lake of the Forest Cantons, in the picture of the Chapel of William Tell! What could be imagined more enchanting? Oh! if our friends at the east could but enjoy it with us!”

We paused long to admire, and then spurred on, skirting the head of the lake, and were soon ascending the broad platform, on which stood the village of Maunk-suck, or Big-foot.

The inhabitants, who had witnessed our approach from a distance, were all assembled in front of their wigwams to greet us, if friends—if otherwise, whatever the occasion should demand. It was the first time such a spectacle had ever presented itself to their wondering eyes. Their salutations were not less cordial than we expected. “Shaw-nee-aw-kee” and his mother, who was known throughout the tribe by the touching appellation “Our friend’s wife,” were welcomed most kindly, and an animated conversation commenced, which I could understand only so far as it was conveyed by gestures—so I amused myself by taking a minute survey of all that met my view.

The chief was a large, raw-boned, ugly Indian, with a countenance bloated by intemperance, and with a sinister, unpleasant expression. He had a gay-colored handkerchief upon his head, and was otherwise attired in his best, in compliment to the strangers.

It was to this chief that Chambly, or as he is now called Shau-bee-nay, Billy Caldwell and Robinson were despatched, during the Winnebago war, in 1827, to use their earnest endeavors to prevent him and his band from joining the hostile Indians.[78] With some difficulty they succeeded, and were thus the means, doubtless, of saving the lives of all the settlers who lived exposed upon the frontier.

Among the various groups of his people, there was none attracted my attention so forcibly as a young man of handsome face, and a figure that was striking, even where all were fine and symmetrical. He too had a gay handkerchief on his head, a shirt of the brightest lemon-colored calico, an abundance of silver ornaments, and, what gave his dress a most fanciful appearance, one leggin of blue, and the other of bright scarlet. I was not ignorant that this peculiar feature in his toilette indicated a heart suffering from the tender passion. The flute, which he carried in his hand, added confirmation to the fact, while the joyous, animated expression of his countenance showed with equal plainness that he was not a despairing lover.

I could have imagined him to have recently returned from the chase, laden with booty, with which he had, as is the custom, entered the lodge of the fair one, and throwing his burden at the feet of her parents, with an indifferent, superb sort of air, as much as to say, “Here is some meat—it is a mere trifle, but it will show you what you might expect with me for a son-in-law.” I could not doubt that the damsel had stepped forward and gathered it up, in token that she accepted the offering, and the donor along with it. There was nothing in the appearance or manner of any of the maidens by whom we were surrounded to denote which was the happy fair, neither, although I peered anxiously into all their countenances, could I there detect any blush of consciousness, so I was obliged to content myself with selecting the youngest and prettiest of the group, and go on weaving my romance to my own satisfaction.

The village stood encircled by an amphitheatre of hills, so precipitous, and with gorges so steep and narrow, that it seemed almost impossible to scale them, even on horseback—how then could we hope to accomplish the ascent of the four-wheeled carriage? This was the point now under discussion between my husband and the Pottowattamies. There was no choice but to make the effort, selecting the pass that the inhabitants pointed out as the most practicable. Petaille went first, and I followed on my favorite Jerry. It was such a scramble as is not often taken. Almost perpendicularly, through what seemed the dry bed of a torrent, now filled with loose stones, and scarcely affording one secure foothold from the bottom to the summit! I clung fast to the mane, literally at times clasping Jerry around his neck, and amid the encouraging shouts and cheers of those below, we at length arrived safely, though nearly breathless, on the pinnacle, and sat looking down, to view the success of the next party.

The horses had been taken from the carriage, and the luggage it contained placed upon the shoulders of some of the young Indians, to be toted up the steep. Ropes were now attached to its sides, and a regular bevy of our red friends, headed by our two Frenchmen, placed to man them. Two or three more took their places in the rear, to hold the vehicle and keep it from slipping backwards—then the labor commenced. Such a pulling! such a shouting! such a clapping of hands by the spectators of both sexes! such a stentorian word of command or encouragement from the bourgeois! Now and then there would be a slight halt, a wavering, as if carriage and men were about to tumble backwards into the plain below—but no—they recovered themselves, and after incredible efforts they, too, safely gained the table land above. In process of time all were landed there, and having remunerated our friends to their satisfaction, the goods and chattels were collected, the wagon repacked, and we set off for our encampment at Turtle Creek.[79]

The exertions and excitement of our laborious ascent, together with the increasing heat of the sun, made this afternoon’s ride more uncomfortable than anything we had previously felt. We were truly rejoiced when the “whoop” of our guide, and the sight of a few scattered lodges, gave notice that we had reached our encamping ground. We chose a beautiful sequestered spot, by the side of a clear, sparkling stream, and having dismounted, and seen that our horses were made comfortable, my husband, after giving his directions to his men, led me to a retired spot where I could lay aside my hat and mask, and bathe my flushed face and aching head in the cool, refreshing waters. Never had I felt anything so grateful, so delicious. I sat down, and leaned my head against one of the tall, overshadowing trees, and was almost dreaming, when summoned to partake of our evening meal.

The Indians had brought us, as a present, some fine brook trout, which our Frenchmen had prepared in the most tempting fashion, and before the bright moon rose and we were ready for our rest, all headache and fatigue had alike disappeared.

One of the most charming features of this mode of travelling is the joyous, vocal life of the forest at early dawn, when all the feathered tribe come forth to pay their cheerful salutations to the opening day.

The rapid, chattering flourish of the bob-o'-link, the soft whistle of the thrush, the tender coo of the wood-dove, the deep warbling bass of the grouse, the drumming of the partridge, the melodious trill of the lark, the gay carol of the robin, the friendly, familiar call of the duck and the teal, resound from tree and knoll and lowland, prompting the expressive exclamation of the simple half-breed,

It seems as if man must involuntarily raise his voice, to take part in the general chorus—the matin song of praise.

Birds and flowers, and the soft balmy airs of morning! Must it not have been in a scene like this that Milton poured out his beautiful hymn of adoration,

This day we were journeying in hopes to reach, at an early hour, that broad expanse of the Rock River which here forms the Kosh-ko-nong. The appellation of this water, rendered doubly affecting by the subsequent fate of its people, imports "the lake we live on."[80]

Our road for the early part of the day led through forests so thick and tangled, that Grignon and Lecuyer were often obliged to go in advance as pioneers with their axes, to cut away the obstructing shrubs and branches. It was slow work, and at times quite discouraging, but we were through with it, at last, and then we came into a country of altogether a different description. Low prairies, intersected with deep, narrow streams like canals, the passage of which, either by horses or carriage, was often a matter of delay and even difficulty.

Several times in the course of the forenoon the horses were to be taken from the carriage and the latter pulled and pushed across the deep, narrow channels as best it might.

The wooded banks of the Kosh-ko-nong were never welcomed with greater delight than by us, when they at length broke upon our sight. A ride of five or six miles through the beautiful oak openings, brought us to Man-eater’s village, a collection of neat bark wigwams, with extensive fields on each side of corn, beans, and squashes, recently planted, but already giving promise of a fine crop. In front was the broad blue lake, the shores of which, to the south, were open and marshy, but near the village, and stretching far away to the north, were bordered by fine lofty trees. The village was built but a short distance below the point where the Rock River opens into the lake, and during a conversation between our party and the Indians at the village, an arrangement was made with them to take us across at a spot about half a mile above.

After a short halt, we again took up our line of march through the woods, along the bank of the river.

A number of the Winnebagoes (for we had been among our own people since leaving Gros-pied Lake), set out for the appointed place by water, paddling their canoes, of which they had selected the largest and strongest.

Arrived at the spot indicated, we dismounted, and the men commenced the task of unsaddling and unloading. We were soon placed in the canoes, and paddled across to the opposite bank. Next, the horses were swum across—after them was to come the carriage. Two long wooden canoes were securely lashed together side by side, and being of sufficient width to admit of the carriage standing within them, the passage was commenced. Again and again the tottering barks would sway from side to side, and a cry or a shout would arise from our party on shore, as the whole mass seemed about to plunge sideways into the water, but it would presently recover itself, and at length, after various deviations from the perpendicular, it reached the shore in safety.

We now hoped that our troubles were at an end, and that we had nothing to do but to mount and trot on as fast as possible to Fort Winnebago. But no. Half a mile further on was a formidable swamp, of no great width it is true, but with a depth of from two to three feet of mud and water. It was a question whether, with the carriage, we could get through it at all. Several of the Indians accompanied us to this place, partly to give us their aid and counsel, and partly to enjoy the fun of the spectacle.

On reaching the swamp, we were disposed to laugh at the formidable representations which had been made to us. We saw only a strip of what seemed rather low land, covered with tall, dry rushes.

It is true the ground looked a little wet, but there seemed nothing to justify all the apprehensions that had been excited. Great was my surprise, then, to see my husband, who had been a few minutes absent, return to our circle attired in his duck trousers, and without shoes or stockings.

“What are you going to do?” inquired I.

“Carry you through the swamp on my shoulders. Come Petaille, you are the strongest—you are to carry Madame Kinzie, and To-shim-nuck there, (pointing to a tall stout Winnebago), he will take Madame Helm.”

“Wait a moment,” said I, and seating myself on the grass, I deliberately took off my own boots and stockings.

“What is that for?” they all asked.

“Because I do not wish to ride with wet feet all the rest of the day.”

“No danger of that,” said they, and no one followed my example.

By the time they were in the midst of the swamp, however, they found my precaution was by no means useless. The water through which our bearers had to pass was of such a depth that no efforts of the ladies were sufficient to keep their feet above the surface; and I had the satisfaction of feeling that my burden upon my husband’s shoulders was much less, from my being able to keep my first position instead of changing constantly to avoid a contact with the water.

The laugh was quite on my side when I resumed my equipment and mounted, dry-shod, into my saddle.

It will be perceived that journeying in the woods is, in some degree, a deranger of ceremony and formality; that it necessarily restricts us somewhat in our conventionalities. The only remedy is, to make ourselves amends by a double share when we return to the civilized walks of life.

By dint of much pulling, shouting, encouraging and threatening, the horses at length dragged the carriage through the difficult pass, and our red friends were left to return to their village, with, doubtless, a very exaggerated and amusing account of all that they had seen and assisted in.

We had not forgotten our promise to Lieut. Foster to put up a “guide-board” of some sort, for his accommodation in following us. We had therefore, upon several occasions, carried with us from the woods a few pieces, of three or four feet in length, which we had planted at certain points, with a transverse stick through a cleft in the top, thus marking the direction he and his party were to take.

We therefore felt sure that, although a few days later, he would probably find our trail, and avail himself of the same assistance as we had, in getting through the difficulties of the way.

Our encamping ground, this night, was to be not far distant from the Four Lakes.[81] We were greatly fatigued with the heat and exercise of the day, and most anxiously did we look out for the clumps of willows and alders, which were to mark the spot were the water would be found. We felt hardly equal to pushing on quite to the bank of the nearest lake. Indeed, it would have taken us too much off our direct course.

When we, at a late hour, came upon a spot fit for our purpose, we exchanged mutual congratulations that this was to be our last night upon the road. The next day we should be at Winnebago!

Our journey had been most delightful—a continued scene of exhilaration and enjoyment; for the various mishaps, although for the moment they had perplexed, had, in the end, but added to our amusement. Still, with the inconstancy of human nature, we were pleased to exchange its excitement for the quiet repose of home.

Our next morning’s ride was of a more tranquil character than any that had preceded it; for at an early hour we entered upon what was known as the “Twenty-mile Prairie,” although it is, in fact, said to be no more than sixteen or eighteen miles. I can only observe, that if this is the case, the miles are wonderfully long on the prairies. Our passage over this was, except the absence of the sand, like crossing the desert. Mile after mile of unbroken expanse—not a tree—not a living object except ourselves.

The sun, as if to make himself amends for his two months' seclusion, shone forth with redoubled brilliancy. There is no such thing as carrying an umbrella on horseback, though those in the wagon were able to avail themselves of such a shelter.

Our mother’s energies had sustained her in the saddle until this day, but she was now fairly obliged to give in, and yield her place on little Brunêt to Sister Margaret.

Thus we went on, one little knoll rising beyond another, from the summit of each of which, in succession, we hoped to descry the distant woods, which were to us as the promised land.

“Take courage,” were the cheering words, often repeated, “very soon you will begin to see the timber.”

Another hour would pass heavily by.

“Now, when we reach the rising ground just ahead, look sharp.”

We looked sharp—nothing but the same unvarying landscape.

There were not even streams to allay the feverish thirst occasioned by fatigue and impatience.

At length a whoop from Shaw-nee-aw-kee broke the silence in which we were pursuing our way.

“Le voila!” (“There it is!”)

Our less practised eye could not at first discern the faint blue strip edging the horizon, but it grew and grew upon our vision, and all fatigue and discomfort proportionably disappeared.

We were in fine spirits by the time we reached “Hastings' Woods,” a noble forest, watered by a clear, sparkling stream.

Grateful as was the refreshment of the green foliage and the cooling waters, we did not allow ourselves to forget that the day was wearing on, and that we must, if possible, complete our journey before sunset, so we soon braced up our minds to continue our route, although we would gladly have lingered another hour.

The marsh of Duck Creek was, thanks to the heat of the past week, in a very different state from what it had been a few months previous, when I had been so unfortunately submerged in its icy waters.

We passed it without difficulty, and soon found ourselves upon the banks of the creek.

The stream, at this point, was supposed to be always fordable; and even were it not so, that to the majority of our party would have been a matter of little moment. To the ladies, however, the subject seemed to demand consideration.

“This water looks very deep—are you sure we can cross it on horseback?”

“Oh, yes! Petaille, go before and let us see how the water is.”

Petaille obeyed. He was mounted on a horse like a giraffe, and, extending his feet horizontally, he certainly managed to pass through the stream without much of a wetting.

It seemed certain that the water would come into the wagon, but that was of the less consequence, as in case of the worst, the passengers could mount upon the seats.

My horse, Jerry, was above the medium height, so that I soon passed over, with no inconvenience but that of being obliged to disengage my feet from the stirrups, and tuck them up snugly against the mane of the horse.

Sister Margaret was still upon Brunêt. She was advised to change him for one of the taller horses, but while the matter was under debate, it was settled by the perverse little wretch taking to the water most unceremoniously, in obedience to the example of the other animals.

He was soon beyond his depth, and we were at once alarmed and diverted at seeing his rider, with surprising adroitness, draw herself from the stirrups, and perch herself upon the top of the saddle, where she held her position, and navigated her little refractory steed safely to land.

This was the last of our adventures. A pleasant ride of four miles brought us to the Fort, just as the sun was throwing his last beams over the glowing landscape; and on reaching the ferry, we were at once conducted, by the friends who were awaiting us, to the hospitable roof of Major Twiggs.[82]

CHAPTER XXVI

FOUR-LEGS, THE DANDY

The companies of the first regiment which had hitherto been stationed at Fort Winnebago,[83] had received orders to move on to the Mississippi as soon as relieved by a portion of the fifth, now at Fort Howard.

As many of the officers of the latter regiment were married, we had reason to expect that all the quarters at the post would be put in requisition. For this reason, although strongly pressed by Major Twiggs to take up our residence again in the Fort, until he should go on furlough, we thought it best to establish ourselves at once at “the Agency.”

It seemed laughable to give so grand a name to so very insignificant a concern. We had been promised, by the heads of department at Washington, a comfortable dwelling so soon as there should be an appropriation by Congress sufficient to cover any extra expense in the Indian Department. It was evident that Congress had a great spite at us, for it had delayed for two sessions attending to our accommodation. There was nothing to be done, therefore, but to make ourselves comfortable with the best means in our power.

Major Twiggs had given Mr. Kinzie the old log barracks, which had been built for the officers and soldiers on the first establishment of the post, two years previous, and his Frenchmen had removed and put them up again upon the little hill opposite the Fort. To these some additions were now made in the shape of a dairy, stables, smoke-house, etc., constructed of the tamarack logs brought from the neighboring swamp. The whole presented a very rough and primitive appearance.

The main building consisted of a succession of four rooms, no two of which communicated with each other, but each opened by a door into the outward air. A small window cut through the logs in front and rear, gave light to the apartment. An immense clay chimney for every two rooms, occupied one side of each, and the ceiling overhead was composed of a few rough boards laid upon the transverse logs that supported the roof.

It was surprising how soon a comfortable, homelike air was given to the old dilapidated rooms, by a few Indian mats spread upon the floor, the piano and other furniture ranged in their appropriate places, and even a few pictures hung against the logs. The latter, alas! had soon to be displaced, for with the first heavy shower the rain found entrance through sundry crevices, and we saw ourselves obliged to put aside, carefully, everything that could be injured by the moisture. We made light of these evils, however—packed away our carpets and superfluous furniture upon the boards above, which we dignified with the name of attic, and contentedly resolved to await the time when Government should condescend to remember us. The greatest inconvenience I experienced, was from the necessity of wearing my straw bonnet throughout the day, as I journeyed from bedroom to parlor, and from parlor to kitchen. I became so accustomed to it, that I even sometimes forgot to remove it when I sat down to table, or to my quiet occupations with my mother and sister.

Permission was however, in time, received to build a house for the blacksmith—that is, the person kept in pay by the Government at this station to mend the guns, traps, &c. of the Indians.

It happened most fortunately for us that Monsieur Isidore Morrin was a bachelor, and quite satisfied to continue boarding with his friend Louis Frum, dit Manaigre, so that when the new house was fairly commenced, we planned it and hurried it forward entirely on our own account.

It was not very magnificent, it is true, consisting of but a parlor and two bedrooms on the ground-floor, and two low chambers under the roof, with a kitchen in the rear; but compared with the rambling old stable-like building we now inhabited, it seemed quite a palace.

Before it was completed, Mr. Kinzie was notified that the money for the annual Indian payment was awaiting his arrival in Detroit to take charge of it, and superintend its transportation to the Portage, and he was obliged to set off at once to fulfil this part of his duty.

The workmen who had been brought from the Mississippi to erect the main building, were fully competent to carry on their work without an overseer, but the kitchen was to be the task of the Frenchmen, and the question was, how could it be executed in the absence of the bourgeois?

“You will have to content yourselves in the old quarters until my return,” said my husband, “and then we will soon have things in order.” It was to be a long and tedious journey, for the operations of Government were not carried on by railroad and telegraph in those days.

After his departure I said to the men, "Come, you have all your logs cut and hauled—the squaws have brought the bark for the roof—what is to prevent our finishing the house and getting all moved and settled to surprise Monsieur John on his return?"

“Ah! to be sure, Madame John,” said Plante, who was always the spokesman, “provided the one who plants a green bough on the chimney-top is to have a treat!”

“Certainly. All hands fall to work, and see who will win the treat.”

Upon the strength of such an inducement to the one who should put the finishing stroke to the building, Plante, Pillon and Manaigre, whom the waggish Plante persisted in calling “mon nègre,” whenever he felt himself out of the reach of the other’s arm, all went vigorously to work.

Building a log-house is a somewhat curious process. First, as will be conceived, the logs are laid one upon another and joined at the corners, until the walls have reached the required height. The chimney is formed by four poles of the proper length, interlaced with a wicker-work of small branches. A hole or pit is dug, near at hand, and with a mixture of clay and water, a sort of mortar is formed. Large wisps of hay are filled with this thick substance, and fashioned with the hands into what are technically called “clay cats,” and then are filled in among the framework of the chimney until not a chink is left. The whole is then covered with a smooth coating of the wet clay, which is denominated, “plastering.”

Between the logs which compose the walls of the building, small bits of wood are driven, quite near together; this is called “chinking,” and after it is done, clay cats are introduced, and smoothed over with the plaster. When all is dry, both walls and chimney are white-washed, and present a comfortable and tidy appearance.

The roof is formed by laying upon the transverse logs, thick sheets of bark, and around the chimney, for greater security against the rain, we took care to have placed a few layers of the palisades that had been left, when Mr. Peach, an odd little itinerant genius, had fenced in our garden, the pride and wonder of the surrounding settlement and wigwams.

While all these matters were in progress, we received frequent visits from our Indian friends. First and foremost among them was “the young Dandy,” Four-Legs.

One fine morning he made his appearance accompanied by two squaws, whom he introduced as his wives. He could speak a little Chippewa, and by this means he and our mother contrived to keep up something of a conversation. He was dressed in all his finery, brooches, wampum, fan, looking-glass and all. The paint upon his face and chest showed that he had devoted no small time to the labors of his toilet.

He took a chair, as he had seen done at Washington, and made signs to his women to sit down upon the floor.

The custom of taking two wives is not very general among the Indians. They seem to have the sagacity to perceive that the fewer they have to manage, the more complete is the peace and quiet of the wigwam.

Nevertheless, it sometimes happens that a husband takes a foolish fancy for a second squaw, and in that case he uses all his cunning and eloquence to reconcile the first to receiving a new inmate in the lodge. Of course it is a matter that must be managed adroitly, in order that harmony may be preserved.

"My dear, your health is not very good, it is time you should have some rest. You have worked very hard, and it grieves me that you should have to labor any longer. Let me get you some nice young squaw to wait upon you, that you may live at ease all the rest of your life."

The first wife consents—indeed, she has no option. If she is of a jealous, vindictive disposition, what a life the new-comer leads! The old one maintains all her rights of dowager and duenna, and the husband’s tenderness is hardly a compensation for all the evils the young rival is made to suffer.

It was on Sunday morning that this visit of the Dandy was made to us. We were all seated quietly, engaged in reading. Four-Legs inquired of my mother, why we were so occupied, and why everything around us was so still.

My mother explained to him our observance of the day of rest—that we devoted it to worshipping and serving the Great Spirit, as he had commanded in his Holy Word.

Four-Legs gave a nod of approbation. That was very right, he said—he was glad to see us doing our duty—he was very religious himself, and he liked to see others so. He always took care that his squaws attended to their duty, not reading perhaps, but such as the Great Spirit liked, and such as he thought proper and becoming.

He seemed to have no fancy for listening to any explanation of our points of difference. The impression among the Winnebagoes “that if the Great Spirit had wished them different from what they are, he would have made them so,” seems too strong to yield to either argument or persuasion.

Sometimes those who are desirous of appearing somewhat civilized will listen quietly to all that is advanced on the subject of Christianity, and coolly saying, “Yes, we believe that, too,” will change the conversation to other subjects.

As a general thing, they do not appear to perceive that there is anything to be gained, by adopting the religion and the customs of the whites. “Look at them,” they say, “always toiling and striving—always wearing a brow of care—shut up in houses—afraid of the wind and the rain—suffering when they are deprived of the comforts of life! We, on the contrary, live a life of freedom and happiness. We hunt and fish, and pass our time pleasantly in the open woods and prairies. If we are hungry, we take some game; or, if we do not find that, we can go without. If our enemies trouble us, we can kill them, and there is no more said about it. What should we gain by changing ourselves into white men?”[AS]