CHAPTER XXXI.

Preparations for Reception.—Reception by

Grand Pawnees 258

INDIAN SKETCHES.

* * * * *

INTRODUCTION.

INTRODUCTORY ACCOUNT OF THE OBJECT OF THE EXPEDITION, AND THE PERSONS

WHO COMPOSED IT.

For several years past the government of the United States, as is well

known, has been engaged in removing the Indian tribes, resident within

the States, to tracts of wild but fertile land, situated beyond the

verge of white population. Some of the tribes thus removed, however,

when they came to hunt over the lands assigned them, encountered

fierce opposition from the aboriginal tribes of the prairies, who

claimed the country as their own, and denied the right of the United

States to make the transfer. The migratory tribes were thus placed in

a disastrous predicament: having sold their native lands to the United

States, they had no place to which they might retreat; while they could

only maintain a footing in their new homes, by incessant fighting.

The government of the United States hastened to put an end to the

bloody conflicts thus engendered, by purchasing the contested lands,

and effecting treaties of peace between the jarring tribes. In

some instances, however, the aboriginals remained unappeased. This

especially was the case, with a fierce and numerous tribe of Pawnees,

inhabiting the banks of the Platte river, and who were backed in their

hostilities by their allies the Otoes, who, though less numerous,

were even more daring than themselves. These two tribes laid claim

to all the land lying between the Platte and Kanzas rivers; a region

comprising several hundred square miles. It had long been their

favourite hunting ground, in which it was death for a strange hunter

to intrude. This forbidden tract, however, had been granted by the

United States to the Delawares; and the latter had made it the scene

of their hunting excursions. A bitter feud was the consequence. The

tract in question became a debateable ground in which war parties were

continually lurking. The Delawares had been attacked, while hunting,

by the Pawnees, and many of their tribe had fallen. The Delawares, in

revenge, had surprised and burnt one of the Pawnee towns, while the

warriors were absent on a buffalo hunt.

The hostile feelings, thus awakened among the aboriginal tribes of the

prairies, had been manifested toward the white men. Several trappers

and traders had been massacred by the Pawnees, who looked upon them as

intruders; and who were too far from the settlements, too confident of

their own prowess, and too ignorant of the power of the whites, to care

much either for their friendship or their enmity.

In this state of things, the commissioners, appointed by government to

superintend the settlement of the migratory tribes, were instructed

to proceed to the region in question, purchase the contested lands

of the Pawnees, and induce them to remove to the north of the river

Platte, and effect a treaty of peace between them and their new

neighbours. For this purpose, in the summer of 1833, Mr. Ellsworth,

the same commissioner who in the preceding year had explored a tract

of the hunting grounds between the Arkansas and the Grand Canadian[A],

set out from Washington for Fort Leavenworth, a frontier post on the

Missouri river, about forty miles beyond the boundary line of the State

of Missouri, where he was to await the arrival of one of his fellow

commissioners, before proceeding to visit the hostile tribes. In this

expedition he was accompanied by the writer of the following pages, who

was glad of the opportunity to visit strange scenes and strange people,

of which he had only heard wild and exaggerated rumours. There was

another volunteer, a Scotch gentleman, travelling for information and

amusement; and a son of the commissioner (Mr. Edward Ellsworth), who

acted as secretary to the expedition, made up our party.

[A] See a Tour on the Prairies by W. Irving.

At St. Louis we hired two servants to accompany us throughout the

expedition. One was a half breed, a cross between the Creek Indian and

the Negro; he was named Mordecai, and inherited the lazy propensities

of both races, but entertained a high opinion of his own merits. The

other was a tall awkward boy, with a low forehead, and a dull, sleepy

countenance, nearly hidden by elf locks. His name was Joseph. He spoke

a mixture of French and English, and would fain have passed for a full

blooded white; but his mother was a thorough squaw, wife to a little

Creole Frenchman, named Antoine or Tonish, who had accompanied the

commissioner on the preceding year, in his expedition to the Arkansas

frontier.[B] Joseph inherited from his father a gasconading spirit,

and an inveterate habit of lying. Like him, too, he was a first-rate

horseman, and a hard rider, who knocked up every horse entrusted to

him. To add to his hereditary qualities, he inherited from his mother

an inveterate habit of stealing. Though a downright coward, he boasted

much of his valour, and even told me, in confidence, “that he could

lick his daddy.” Being of an obstinate disposition, he was wisely

appointed by the commissioner to drive a dearborn waggon, drawn by

two mules; and many a stubborn contest took place between him and his

fellow brutes, in which he was sure to carry the day.

[B] See Tour on the Prairies.

Such was our party when we left St. Louis, on our route to Fort

Leavenworth.

CHAPTER I.

THE INDIAN COUNTRY.

It was late upon a fine glowing afternoon in July that we first crossed

the Indian frontier, and issued from the forest upon a beautiful

prairie, spreading out, as far as the eye could reach, an undulating

carpet of green, enamelled with a thousand flowers, and lighted up by

the golden rays of the setting sun. Occasionally a grouse, frightened

at our approach, would bustle from among the high grass, and fly

whirring over the tops of the neighbouring hills.

We had ridden for more than an hour over the green waste. The heat

of the afternoon was yielding to the cool breezes of sunset; the sun

itself had just hid its crimson disk below the prairie hills, and the

western sky was still glowing with its beams.

The deer, which, during the scorching heat of mid-day, had nestled

among the thick groves which dot the prairie, now began to steal from

their hiding places, and were seen bounding over the green sward, or

standing buried up to their heads among the tall flowers, and gazing

wildly and fearfully at our party.

At a distance, too, we could perceive the gaunt form of a vagabond

wolf, sneaking through the grass, and stealing snake-like upon his

beautiful, though timid, co-tenant of the prairie.

An exclamation from our guide attracted our attention to a solitary

Indian, mounted upon a horse, and standing, statue-like, upon a

distant hill directly in our route.

Although we had often seen straggling Indians in the frontier towns,

they had in general so degraded an air as to attract but little

attention. The appearance of this one, however, standing alone on his

own soil, where he was bowed by no feeling of inferiority, must, we

thought, be as noble as the soil of which he was the master; and we

pushed forward to gaze upon him. He remained unmoved, neither advancing

a single pace to meet us, nor retiring on our approach. He proved to be

a Shawnee; one of the remnant of that brave tribe who, under Tecumseh,

had made such a desperate attack upon the whites near the banks of the

Wabash.

Some years since, they had been removed from their old hunting

grounds, and stationed about ten miles beyond the boundary which

separates the state of Missouri from the territory bearing the same

name. They had left the graves of their fathers, the home of their

childhood, to seek in a strange land that freedom which they could no

longer enjoy in the homestead handed down to them by their unfettered

ancestors; but not before the sapping influence of their communion with

the whites had exerted its sway over them, and reduced them to that

abject state which distinguishes the civilised from the savage Indian.

A feeling of disappointment, mingled with sorrow, came over us as we

rode up to this solitary being. At a distance our fancies had painted

him possessed of all that was noble in the Indian character; but a

nearer view dispelled the illusion. He could not have been older than

thirty, but intemperance had left its mark upon his features. His

hair was thick and matted, and hung nearly to his eyes. His legs were

covered with leggings of deerskin, ornamented with a yellow binding.

Over a dirty calico shirt he wore a long surtout coat, with immense

brass buttons; and upon his shoulder he bore a very long and heavy

rifle.

He saluted us with the usual guttural salutation of “ugh!” and, turning

round, rode slowly ahead of our party. His horse was one of those tough

little Indian ponies celebrated for hard heads, hard mouths, hard

constitutions, and a fund of obstinacy which it would puzzle Satan

himself to overcome. He wriggled through the grass with a sideling

ricketty pace, that would have wearied any other than an Indian; and,

between the incessant drumming of the heels of the rider into the ribs

of his steed, and the jerking, hitching pace of the animal, I could not

well determine which underwent the most labour, the horse or his master.

He had not ridden in front of us long before we saw, at a distance,

another of the same class galloping towards us. He came forward over

the prairie at the full speed of a lean raw-boned nag; and we hoped to

find in him a character which might redeem the first, but in this we

were disappointed.

He was short and broad; dressed in a dirty calico shirt, and an equally

dirty and ragged pair of pantaloons. On his head was cocked, with a

very knowing air, a something which once might have been called a hat.

On his shoulder he carried a long rifle, while he plied its wiping rod

lustily upon the flanks of his horse until he reached the party.

After gazing at us with some curiosity, he rode off to our first

acquaintance. A short conversation then took place, after which they

thumped their heels into the ribs of their horses, and scampered off

over the prairie; rising at one moment over the top of some ridge, and

then again disappearing in the hollow which lay beyond it, until at

last we lost sight of them behind a grove which jutted out into the

prairie.

So,—these are the Indians! This is a specimen of the princely race

which once peopled the wilds of America, from the silent wilderness

which still borders the Pacific, to the now humming shores of the

Atlantic! We were disappointed, and did not reflect that we were

looking only upon the dregs of that people; that these were but

members of those tribes who had long lived in constant intercourse

with the whites, imbibing all their vices, without gaining a single

redeeming virtue; and that the wild savage could no more be compared

with his civilised brother, than the wild, untamed steed of his

own prairie could be brought in comparison with the drooping,

broken-spirited drudge horse, who toils away a life of bondage beneath

the scourge of a master.

Upon their departure we urged our horses forward; for the creaking of

the prairie insects warned us of the approach of night, and the place

of our destination was yet some miles distant. A rapid and silent ride

of an hour brought us to the wished-for spot.

It was a single log cabin, built in the edge of the wood, and inhabited

by a white man, the blacksmith appointed by the United States to take

charge of, and keep in repair, the arms paid as an annuity to the

Shawnee tribe; a measure of government highly pleasing to the Indians,

who detest labour of all kinds, and would willingly travel a hundred

miles to get another to perform some trivial job, which they might

themselves accomplish with but a few hours’ labour.

The house of the blacksmith bore all the marks which characterise

the backwoodsman. It consisted of two small cabins, formed of rough

unbarked logs, and united to each other by a covered shed. One or

two heavy vehicles were standing in front of it. At about a hundred

yards’ distance was a large field of Indian corn. Two cows, two horses,

and a cozy bevy of pigs, who were snuffing and grunting from a deep

mud-hole a few yards from the house, made up the live stock of the

establishment, and were all that were considered necessary for the

comfort of a backwoodsman.

CHAP. II.

THE RANGERS.—INDIAN HABITS.—CROSSING THE KANZAS RIVER.

It was daylight on the following morning when we commenced our journey

towards Cantonment Leavenworth. It is situated in the Indian country,

about forty miles beyond the line which separates the State from the

Territory of Missouri. Our guide took the lead, and struck into a

narrow foot-path which led through the forest, while the rest of us

followed in Indian file.

There is a deep silence in a western wilderness. No sound is heard, not

even the note of a bird, to break the deathly stillness.

Occasionally a spectre-like raven would flit across our path, saluting

us with his ill-omened croak; or poising himself upon his wings, to

take a more minute survey of the strange beings who had invaded his

secluded haunts.

The silence was thrilling. Our voices echoed beneath the leafy canopy

with a sound that rendered them strange even to our own ears. Even the

crackling of the dry twigs, as they snapped beneath the hoofs of our

horses, had a strange and solemn sound: but, as we grew familiarized

with it, this feeling wore off, nor was it long before the jest and

merry laugh went on as usual; and, I imagine, many a long day had

passed since those aged forests had rung to such sounds of boisterous

merriment as burst from the lips of the band, as we galloped towards

the prairie, which lay but a few miles beyond.

In half an hour we reached it. A loud whoop from our guide announced

that something more than usual had met his eye. At the same time he

struck his spurs into his horse and galloped out into the open prairie.

At a short distance, a long troop of horsemen was trailing through the

high grass, and preparing to enter a small thicket of timber which rose

in the prairie at a short distance. They were a body of the United

States’ Rangers, and had just returned from escorting the Santa Fé

traders across a portion of the perilous route, which they are obliged

to take, in carrying on their profitable, though hazardous, trade with

that inland mart. When we met, they had been more than a month absent

from the garrison, seeing none but their own party, or occasionally a

straggling band of friendly Indians, carrying their whole wardrobe in

the small valise attached to their saddles; dependent for subsistence

on hunting alone, and continually on the look-out for an enemy,—an

enemy that always came when least expected, tarried but to strike the

blow, and retreated with equal celerity to the fastnesses of their own

mountains.

There is always a feeling of vagabond companionship engendered by

travelling in the wilderness; and, although we were not a day’s ride

beyond the settlements, we hailed the sight of this tatterdemalion band

with as much joy as if we had been united by the links of a long and

well-tried friendship.

We spent half an hour with them; then spurring on, we soon reached the

bank of the Kanzas river.

This is one of the largest tributaries of the Missouri; being from a

quarter to two miles in width, and varying in depth from one to thirty

feet.

Upon reaching its brink, we found attached to a tree a large scow,

which was used as a ferry-boat. Its owner, a tall thin Delaware, was

quietly seated in one corner, pouring out a flood of smoke from a small

pipe which garnished one corner of his mouth.

There is always an air of gentlemanly laziness hanging about the

Indians. They live they know not how, and they care not where. A little

suffices them: if they can get it, they are satisfied; if not, they are

satisfied without it. They belong to a sect of philosophers ranging

between the Epicureans and the Stoics. When pleasure presents its cup,

they drink it to the dregs; and when the reverse is the case, they bear

it without a murmur.

They have no objection to beg, or, if it is equally convenient, to

steal; for, to tell the truth, they are much troubled with confused

memories, and are terribly given to mistaking the property of other

people for their own. It is a universal practice among them, and

brings with it no disgrace. To all this is added a most gentlemanly

abhorrence of labour of all descriptions, and a great store of patience

in enduring the pinching hunger which is often the result of indolence.

On a wet day you may travel for miles over the prairies, or through the

thickets, and not a single Indian will cross your path; but let the

sun again beam forth, and you will see them around in every direction,

lounging in the long grass or sunning themselves upon some high prairie

peak, with a most profound forgetfulness of the past, and lordly

contempt for the future; for they are marvellously fond of fulfilling

the general sense, though not the literal meaning of the old adage,

which says, “make hay while the sun shines.”

Upon our hailing this Charon of the Kanzas, he quietly rose from his

seat, and, stepping to the shore, made signs for us to lead our horses

into the scow. He remained upon the bank until they were all safely

embarked. He did not offer to aid in the least in getting them on

board; nor did our guide appear to expect any assistance from him. When

every thing was in readiness, he loosed the fastening, and seizing a

long pole, thrust it into the sandy bottom, and whirled the ticklish

vessel far out into the rushing current of the river. The water, at

this spot, was not very deep; and by means of his pole, he soon ran

the scow upon the sand of the opposite shore. He then secured it to

a tree, and, having received his pay, pocketed it, and strolled off,

leaving the party to land, or stay on board, as they might think fit.

We disembarked and galloped up the bank. On the top was a large log

house, inhabited by the blacksmith of the Delaware Indians, and the

last building we were to meet in the route to the garrison. We had

scarcely reached it when the woods on the opposite bank of the river

began to ring to the shouts of the Rangers; and the whole troop, as

fantastically arrayed as a band of Italian banditti, slowly wound among

the tall tree trunks until they reached the bank which overhung the

water.

There was a pause of some moments upon the brink; then a heavy splash

announced that the foremost had taken to the water; and, in a moment

after, his powerful animal was struggling against the swift current.

The rest paused to watch his progress, then one after another dashed

in; until the long line of snorting steeds, and their whooping riders,

extended nearly across the river.

At that moment a dark thunder cloud, which had been hanging over the

woods for several hours, opened its fire upon the band, thoroughly

drenching all that the water had left untouched, and rendering them

almost invisible by reason of the density of its shower.

The cloud hovered over for about an hour, but at last, one after

another, a few rays were seen shooting out their bright lines from

behind the dark curtain, and playing upon the tops of the distant

trees. Finally the ragged masses rolling together slowly floated off to

the eastward, until their dark forms were lost below the horizon, and

the heaven was left in its sea of pure and spotless blue.

CHAP. III.

SHAWANESE AND THE DELAWARES.

In an hour, we had left the house of the blacksmith, and were dashing

through the moist and glistening grass of the prairie, in front of

one of the villages of the Shawanese. It consisted of about a dozen

houses or cabins, grouped together upon the top of a hill, and looking

on a ragged little prairie. There was but little attraction in its

appearance, and withal a most philosophic indifference to cleanliness

or comfort.

Our approach was announced by about twenty half-starved dogs, who set

up a yell which brought to the doors every inhabitant of the place,

old enough to be tormented with curiosity.

Presently two of them came forward to meet us. The first was a fat

wheezing Indian of about fifty; he was dressed partly after the

fashion of the whites, and partly in his own native style. He wore a

broad-brimmed black hat, ornamented with several bands of tin; a pair

of large black-rimmed spectacles; a blue calico shirt, and a pair of

blue cloth pantaloons, secured close to his legs by several bands of

yellow riband.

His companion, who was a little herring of a fellow, retained more

of the Indian in his dress and appearance. His head was shaved, with

the exception of a single lock[C], which luxuriated upon the top of

his crown, surrounded by a little pallisado of stiff bristles, left

standing at its root amid the general harvest. His face and head

had been painted with vermilion, and at a distance bore a strong

resemblance to a large red potatoe. A shirt of calico was the only

article of civilised manufacture about him. His leggings were of

deerskin, the edges of which were cut into a rough border; and his

mocassins were made of the same material.

[C] It is customary with all the Indian tribes, when shaving their

heads (as is the almost universal practice with the uncivilised

tribes), to leave a single, long, thin lock of hair upon the crown, to

aid their enemies in removing their scalp. From this it received the

appellation of “scalp lock.” It is considered a point of chivalry among

them, to leave this unshorn. Great care is frequently bestowed upon it,

and it is usually adorned with plumes of the eagle, the feathers of

birds, or ornaments of deer’s hair.

Upon our approach, they came out with the intention of holding a

conversation with us, but, owing to an equal ignorance of the language

of each other, we could obtain from them but little information. After

wasting a short time in attempting to glean intelligence of our future

route, we gave it up, and started forward at random. We rode up hills

and down hollows; spattered through streams; galloped over patches of

prairie, and through clumps of woodland; until, after riding for more

than an hour, we found ourselves in the edge of a wood, and in the very

heart of a town of the Delawares.

A general barking of dogs again announced us to the Indians. They

flocked out to meet us. From them we learned our route, and, passing

through the village, continued our journey towards the cantonment.

There is but little in the civilised Indian to excite interest, or to

enlist the feelings; they are a race between the whites, and their

own people, as God made them. We have heard tales of those from whom

they sprang; of their contests for their soil; of their fierce and

bloody defence of their villages, and of the graves of their ancestors.

But where are they? Where are the braves of the nation? They have

come within the blighting influence of the white man; they have been

swept away even as is the grass of their own prairie before the fire

of the hunter. A spring may come again to revive the drooping face of

nature; but to them there is no spring—no renovation. It is probable

that, ere two centuries shall elapse, there will be but a very remnant

of their race—a few wretched beings lingering about the then abodes

of civilisation, unheeded, unnoticed—strangers in the land of their

fathers.

We paused for a short time in the edge of the forest to take a

lingering look of the village; then turning away, we pursued our course

until our horses again brought us to the prairie, upon which was

imprinted the wide trail leading to Leavenworth.

CHAP. IV.

THE PRAIRIE.—ARRIVAL AT FORT LEAVENWORTH.

The passing cloud which had swept over the prairie in the morning, had

left nothing but beauty. A cool freshness exhaled from the tall grass

glittering with its water beads. The rich, though parched foliage

seemed to have given place to a young and luxuriant growth of the

richest green. The clusters of flowers which had worn a dried and

feverish look, now rose in renovated beauty, as if from their bed of

sickness, and spread their perfumes through the morning air.

In the spring of the year, these prairies are covered with a profusion

of pale pink flowers, rearing their delicate stalks among the rough

blades of the wild grass. These were too fragile to withstand the

scorching heat of summer; they had disappeared, and their stalks had

also withered. Others had succeeded them. There was a gorgeous richness

in the summer apparel of the prairie. Flowers of red, yellow, purple,

and crimson were scattered in profusion among the grass, sometimes

growing singly, and at others spreading out in beds of several acres

in extent. Like many beauties in real life, they make up in the glare

of their colours, what they want in delicacy; they dazzle but at a

distance, and will not bear closer scrutiny.

There is a sensation of wild pleasure, in traversing these vast and

boundless wastes. At one moment we were standing upon the crest of

some wave-like hill, which commanded a wide view of the green desert

before us. Here and there, were small clumps of trees, resting, like

islands, upon the bosom of this sea of grass. Far off, a long waving

line of timber winding like a serpent over the country, marked the

course of some hidden stream. But a hundred steps of our horses carried

us from the point of look-out. Passing down the sides of the hill,

we splashed through the water at the bottom; tore a path through the

grass, which frequently rose, in these hollows, to the height of eight

or ten feet, and the next moment stood upon the crest of a hill similar

to the first. This was again cut off as we descended a second time into

the trough which followed the long surge-like swell of land.

Such is the prairie—hill follows hill, and hollow succeeds hollow, with

the same regularity as the sweeping billows of the ocean. Occasionally

a high broken bluff rears its solitary head in the midst, like some

lonely sentinel overlooking the country. Upon the tops of these we

frequently saw an Indian, standing in bold relief against the sky,

or seated upon some pleasant spot on its summit, and basking in the

sunshine, with that air of lazy enjoyment which characterises the race.

Hour after hour passed on; the prospect was still the same. At last

a loud cry from our guide announced that we had come in sight of the

cantonment.

There was a snowy speck resting upon the distant green; behind it

rose a forest of lofty timber, which shadowed the Missouri. This was

Leavenworth. But still, many miles intervened; for the prairie is

like the ocean—the view is wide and boundless; and it requires an

eye trained by many months’ residence in these regions to measure

accurately the distance of objects.

It was mid-day when we first caught sight of Leavenworth, but it

was near sunset before we arrived there. About a dozen white-washed

cottage-looking houses compose the barracks and the abodes of the

officers. They are so arranged as to form the three sides of a hollow

square; the fourth is open, and looks out into a wide but broken

prairie. It is a rural looking spot—a speck of civilisation dropped

into the heart of a wilderness. There was nothing here to tell a tale

of war; and but for the solitary sentinels upon their posts; the

lounging forms of the soldiers, who were nearly worn out with their

labours to _kill time_; or the occasional roll of the drum, as the

signal for the performance of some military duty, we should not have

known that we were in the heart of a military station.

CHAP. V.

THE SAC INDIAN.

On the following day we strolled through the forest which skirted

the garrison and overhung the Missouri. At one moment our eyes would

be caught by the dazzling plumage of the little parroquets, as they

whirled through the branches of the trees; at another we amused

ourselves by listening to the shrill screams of a woodpecker, as he

saluted some crony mounted on a neighbouring limb.

Our attention at other times would be attracted by the movements of

some old antiquarian bird of the same species, who was busy peeping

into the holes and crannies of some ruined trunk, to ascertain if

possible the cause of its decay.

In another direction might be seen a solitary raven, sitting in silence

upon the naked limb of some mouldering tree, and apparently brooding

over the ruin that reigned around him.

As we passed an opening between the houses, which gave us a view of the

green in front, we caught sight of a single Indian, standing beneath

the shade of a tall oak.

Whilst we were regarding him, a little red-nosed soldier came up. He

informed us that the Indian was a Sac, one of those who had fought

against the whites under Black Hawk. As he mentioned this, he took

the opportunity of uncorking his indignation, and letting off the

superfluous foam, in a volley of oaths and anathemas against the whole

race in, general, and this individual in particular. He threw out dark

hints of what he had himself done in the war, and what he would _now_

do, if the major would only permit it. At the time, we looked upon him

with considerable awe; but we afterwards learned that there was little

to be apprehended from him. He was a character notorious for boiling

over in the excess of his wrath, especially in time of peace; but

beyond this was distinguished for nothing, except a strong attachment

to liquors of all descriptions.

We soon left him, and crossed over the green, to the spot where the

Indian was standing.

I had formed but a poor opinion of the race from those whom I had

already seen; but never was I more agreeably disappointed—never had I

beheld such a princely fellow. He stood unmoved as we came up, viewing

us with a calm, cold, but unwavering gaze. His eyelid never drooped;

nor was the eye averted for an instant as it met our look. A large

blanket, here and there streaked with vermilion, and ornamented with

hawks’ bells, was so disposed around his folded arms, that it left bare

his finely-formed shoulder, and half of his high and sinewy chest. A

bright, steel-headed tomahawk peeped from beneath its folds, and a

quiver of arrows hung at his back. His legs were cased in leggings

of dressed deerskin, with the edges cut into a rough fringe. He wore

a pair of mocassins of dressed buffalo hide. The top of his head was

closely shaven, and covered with vermilion; but his face was free from

any colouring whatever, with the exception of a ring of black paint,

which was carefully drawn around each eye.

As we approached he drew himself up, and threw his head slightly

backward with an air of haughtiness which well became his high stern

features. He seemed to feel like a proud but desolate being. Upon his

head was bound an eagle’s plume, but it was crushed and broken. Could

it be emblematic of the broken spirit of his own tribe? Their power

was gone; their strength was withered; they were scattered to the four

winds of heaven; the bones of their bravest warriors were whitening the

prairies, and their chief was in bondage in an unknown land.[D]

[D] At this time, Black Hawk was in the Eastern States.

And this savage—he seemed to feel that he was alone; but his stern

features told that he asked no pity, and would brook no insult.

For some time he stood in front of us, returning gaze for gaze, and for

a moment a smile played over his features; then drawing up his tinkling

blanket, he wrapped it closely around him, and walked off. We lost

sight of him behind one of the buildings, as he directed his course

towards the forest.

We turned away towards our quarters; but the roll of the dinner drum

sounded across the green; and, changing our course, we obeyed its

summons.

CHAP. VI.

THE KANZAS.

We had been two days in the garrison. A loud shrill cry arose in the

air as we were in the desolate chamber which we called “our quarters.”

Before we had time to pass a remark as to its cause, it came again,

echoing through the building, and causing the forest to ring to its

sound. We knew that it proceeded from Indians, and immediately left the

quarters to see them. They were at a little distance from the fence

surrounding the garrison, grouped together under a large oak tree,

which grew alone, upon a small level plot of ground directly in front

of the quarters. They were wanderers from the Kanzas village, which is

situated upon the Kanzas river, about a hundred miles beyond the line

of the Indian boundary.

There were about forty of them crowded together around a small fire,

which they had kindled under the shade of the tree.

Give an Indian a fire, and you give him a home. Be there one or a

hundred, a few sticks thrown together and kindled into a flame will be

the gathering place of all. It is the same in the prairies and in the

settlements—in warm weather and in cold. When they stop from a journey

or a hunt, they kindle a fire and nestle around it. From that moment

they feel an ideal property in the spot upon which they have thus

intimated their intention to linger.

The band before us were all finely-formed men; for, with the exception

of the Osage Indians of the Arkansas, they are considered the most

noble of the tribes which yet roam within the neighbourhood of the

settlements. As yet, from their communion with the whites they have

derived benefit alone. Too far from them to imbibe their vices, they

have yet been able to hold sufficient intercourse to promote their own

interest. They have thrown aside their buffalo-skin robes, and adopted

the blanket. They have become skilful in the use of the rifle, and

except in hunting the buffalo make no use of bows and arrows.

When we came up, two or three were engaged in collecting fuel to

sustain the fire; the rest were lounging around, luxuriating in the

most perfect laziness. Several were leaning listlessly upon their

hunting spears, too indolent to bear even their own weight. Some were

resting against the tree; and a band of five or six were lying upon

their backs, with their feet to the fire, drumming with their fists

upon their breasts, and chanting out a sleepy ditty, the chorus of

which was filled up by a loud yell from every throat in the band.

They were all athletic and finely formed. Their heads were shaven

with the exception of the scalp lock, which hung down between their

shoulders; and their breasts were left exposed by their blankets.

There was a little squaw in company with them, a notable character;

and if I might judge from the foolish look of several, and the loud

laugh of the rest, gifted with a most peppery tongue. We had heard of

Indian beauties, but she was not one of them; for she engrossed in her

own person a concentration of ugliness, which would have more than

satisfied a dozen ordinary females. There was an acidity in her black

glittering eye which gave a zest to her remarks, causing them to be

highly relished by the lounging crew, but rendering them unpalatable to

the unfortunate scape goat at whose expense they were uttered.

We had not stood there long before we came in for our share of

her blessings: of their nature, however, we remained in a happy

ignorance. They were received with loud bursts of merriment from the

graceless troop around her, with the exception of one or two of the

oldest Indians. The grave faces and wrinkled brows of these wore a

discouraging sternness. It was in vain that the little woman exhausted

her wit for the purpose of enticing a smile upon their features; their

lips were as rigid as ever, nor did the relaxation of a single muscle

of their swarthy faces denote that they participated in the general

amusement. In spite of this, however, she appeared loath to relinquish

her sport. While this had been going on, an old Indian was sitting

close to the fire, with one elbow resting upon his knee, and his hand

supporting his chin. His hair was white, and rested in flaky locks upon

his shoulders. His eyes were fixed intently upon the blaze, and he was

apparently buried in deep thought.

He had continued in this posture for some time; but at last a loud

burst of laughter, which followed some remark of the squaw, seemed to

call him to himself. He looked around for a moment with a bewildered

air, then starting to his feet, strode over to the oratrix, and hissed

a few low but stern words in her ear. Her face lengthened, and her

mouth closed; the rest instantly followed her example, and the faces

of the whole gang were converted to a look of the most penitential

gravity. What the charm was that acted so potently in hushing the

clamour of the virago I never knew, or I should have imparted it for

the benefit of the civilised world.

The old man then stepped from the centre of the crowd, and extended

his hand to each of us. After a cordial shaking he pressed his own

against his bosom, and withdrew to his former seat at the fire. From

that moment the noise and jeering were hushed. The old lady turned her

attention to a number of potatoes which were roasting in the fire.

Parties of five or six, wrapping their blankets closely around them,

sauntered off towards the quarters of the officers. Others strolled

off to the banks of the Missouri; and five or six, who appeared too

idle even to do that, laid themselves at full length upon the grass,

and joined in the drum and chorus of those who were already engaged in

chanting. A few of the oldest warriors then drew together in a knot,

and commenced an earnest debate, in which they were afterwards joined

by the old Indian who had interfered at first in our behalf. They spoke

earnestly; the matter appeared to be one of moment, and each in turn

gave his opinion. There was a warmth and an energy in their tones and

gesticulation as they spoke, and an earnestness in their usually calm

and dispassionate features, which strongly excited our curiosity.

The little woman, too, seemed totally engrossed with the interest of

the subject. She suffered a large potato to roast to coal without

noticing it. She sat with her eyes intently fixed upon the varying

countenances of the speakers, turning from one to the other as each in

turn delivered his opinion. Her air was not that of mere curiosity,

there was a strong mixture of anxiety blended with it. She looked as if

she were deeply interested in the result.

The debate continued for some time; but at length they separated, and

apparently without coming to any conclusion, strolled off towards the

quarters without heeding the squaw, leaving her seated alone at the

fire.

We afterwards learned that this party of Indians had been for two days

without provisions, and that they were consulting about the selection

of a committee from their band, who should commence begging for a

supply among the soldiers of the garrison. We forgave the little

squaw, in consideration of the penance and fasting which she had

already undergone.

This band hung round the garrison for several days. The imposing

appearance which they bear at first sight, wears off as you become

familiarized with them. The high, haughty carriage, which they wear

towards strangers, gradually relaxes as they become acquainted. They

were constantly lounging round the quarters of the soldiers, or

strolling in little parties of five or six through the woods. Here and

there some curious fellows might be seen, peering into the windows

of the dwelling-houses, or stealing through some open door into the

interior. Their step is so hushed and noiseless, that there is nothing

to warn you of their approach. I have frequently been surprised, upon

looking round in my chamber, to find a dozen of these fellows quietly

seated around me, some upon chairs, others upon the floor, and all

apparently as much at their ease as if they had made it their resting

place for the last century. They seemed neither to care whether you

welcomed them or not; they had made up their minds to visit you, and

visit they would. With all this, there was an unobtrusiveness in their

manners, which soon reconciled us to their presence. They would sit for

hours in the same attitude, making no remarks, holding no conversation;

and were it not for their glistening, snaky eyes, which were ever

fastened on your face, creating a feeling of restless uneasiness, there

was little else in their company to annoy you.

It was near the close of a warm afternoon, that I had thrown myself

upon a bear-skin on the floor, with that feeling of listless languor

which is apt to pervade a stranger, when visiting the western country

for the first time. The drum was pouring out a dull melancholy roll

at the far end of the green, occasionally enlivened by the shrill

tones of a fierce little fife. Under the window, a lounging soldier,

half asleep, was drawling out a tedious ditty, with a strong nasal

accompaniment which did not add much to the vivacity of the tune. Even

the sun himself had been wrought up into a fever. With a face as red

as that of a fat butcher, he crawled through the sky, as if he longed

for the time when he might take his twelve hours’ nap in the cool bed

of the ocean. The trees nodded over the bank of the Missouri with a

heavy, sleepy look. The river itself scampered along its channel, as

if anxious to escape from the sultry heat which filled the atmosphere.

I had lain nearly an hour upon my shaggy couch. My eyes were yielding

to slumber; present things were fast vanishing, or only appeared

blended with the fitful forms of a drowsy imagination.

“Ho! ho! ho!” shouted a dozen voices at my side. I started up—a group

of Kanzas were seated in a ring, around my bear-skin. For a moment

I was bewildered; but they soon convinced me of the reality of my

situation, and of the difference between their visitations and those of

fancy.

They were a detachment who had been sent out to forage in the larders

of the garrison. Although their language was unknown to me, their

object was perfectly intelligible. They signified their wants with a

clearness of gesticulation which could not be misunderstood, and the

earnestness of which was, no doubt, enhanced by a keen appetite.

Seeing that there was no alternative, I called to our half-breed boy,—

“Joseph!”

“Vat you vant?” sounded a voice from the dark cavern below, which was

dignified with the name of a kitchen.

“Have you any meat or bread for these Indians?”

“Sacre diable!” answered he, “Vare de devil I to git meat for dem? I

h’aint eat none my own sef, for tree day, nor Mordecai neder.”

This was not altogether true, but it was conclusive; so I returned to

my dusky friends with the heavy intelligence.

There are two characters in this world, whom it is impossible to

convince of the truth of any thing which jars with their own opinions

or interests; the first is a politician, the second is a hungry

Indian. I soon found it out—my red visiters were immoveable—they were

deaf both to arguments and to statements of facts. They heard me—they

understood me—but they were not a whit nearer to conviction, and they

made no motion to depart. There was no resource left, so I determined

to abdicate in their favour; and taking up my hat I left the house, and

strolled off in the woods.

It was near sunset when I returned to my quarters. I opened the door of

the chamber and looked in.

“Ho! ho! ho!” sounded a dozen guttural voices from within. My red

friends were there still, waiting for my coming. I closed the door

instantly, and walked off with a hasty step to the quarters of one of

the officers; nor did I return until late at night, when I found that

they had disappeared.

I afterwards learned that they had been supplied with provisions on the

morning previous, and that they were now carrying on the business of

begging for mere amusement.

When the night grew dark, there was a bright fire gleaming under the

old oak tree where they had taken their station, and the whole group

were huddled together around it. From the piazza in front of our

quarters we could see their forms flitting round the blaze, and could

hear their song as it rose up in the damp air, with a wildness not

unmixed with melody. The day was past, and they were now enjoying the

present moment with their usual happy forgetfulness of toil. In the

morning we again visited the spot which they had selected for their

camp; but it was deserted. The embers had fallen to ashes—the fire

was extinguished—and the whole wild troop had again set out upon its

wanderings.

CHAP. VII.

THE KANZAS CHIEF.

Two days after the departure of the Kanzas band we were seated in our

chamber, when a heavy muffled tread jarred upon the piazza in front of

us. A large Indian passed the window, and a moment after he entered the

room.

He was tall and muscular, though his form, through neglect of exercise,

was fast verging towards corpulency. He wore a hat after the fashion of

the whites, a calico hunting shirt and rough leggings. Over the whole

was wrapped a heavy blanket. His face was unpainted, and although his

age was nearly seventy his hair was raven black, and his eye as keen

as a hawk’s. He was the White Plume, chief of the Kanzas nation. He had

spent much time among the whites, and had gradually become familiarized

with their manners. Upon entering the room he lifted his hat from his

head and placed it upon the table; then advancing towards the Indian

commissioner, who was seated near the door, he offered his hand to him;

after which he shook hands in turn with the rest. Having done this, he

stepped into the centre of the room, and wrapping his blanket closely

around his body beneath his arms, commenced an address—not that he

had any thing in particular to say, for he had come to the garrison

by accident; but he was one of those windy characters who take great

delight in listening to their own speeches, and who, unfortunately for

the ears of many a civilised man, are not confined to savages alone.

By his side stood his interpreter, a white man, who had spent many

years among the tribe, and who translated the sentences, as the chief

paused for that purpose.

The address lasted for about ten minutes, by which time he was

completely out of breath, and seated himself from mere exhaustion. The

most of it was dull, and a mere repetition of the same ideas; but once

in speaking of the loss of his children, who had died of the cholera

during the fall previous, his language was even poetical.

“My children,” said he, “have gone from me; the Great Spirit has

called them; they have disappeared like the snow that melteth on the

prairie. I was lonely; I returned to my lodge, but it was desolate, for

they were not there.”

When he had rested himself for a few moments he rose up; and after

throwing out several hints of so broad a character that they smacked

strongly of beggary, he received several presents, and left the

building, winding his way over the prairie along the narrow trail which

led to his village.

CHAP. VIII.

THE FOREST.—THE KICKAPOOS.

Day after day waned by, still we lingered in the white-washed cottages

of Leavenworth. Urgent preparations were making for our departure

to the western wilds, but as yet they were unfinished. To the

commissioner who had charge of the expedition every moment was fraught

with interest and anxiety, but to several of us who had accompanied

him from curiosity alone, there was but little occupation. Still

there was a feeling of dreamy pleasure in wandering through the tall

moss-grown groves which surrounded the garrison. There was a calm

quiet pervading them, which stole soothingly over the mind, drawing

it away from dwelling upon things present, and wrapping it up in its

own wild musings. The thick arches of overhanging trees threw a dark

and night-like shade over the ground. Here and there a solitary ray

of sunshine, like a pilgrim in a strange land, strayed through some

crevice in the thick foliage, playing in a bright hazy streak through

the gloom, and casting a golden spot upon the dark creeping plants

beneath. There was a vastness in the size of the mighty trunks that

seized forcibly upon the imagination. What was America when those

veteran trees were but saplings? Who were her children? Where are they?

The tale is a sad one, and fraught with little that reflects credit

upon the white man.

The forest is full of ruins. It gives many a touching memento of the

work of time. Hundreds of gigantic trees, which have weathered the

storms of ages, and for centuries have kept their silent watch, have

yielded to its power; have been hurled from their stands, and their

lumbering wrecks are decaying upon the ground—the green moss is their

covering, the wild ivy their shroud. Thousands of dead trees are still

standing, shooting up their tall gray forms, stripped of bark, of

foliage, and of branches; still, they cling with a lingering tenacity

to their old abiding places, as if loath to resign themselves to the

ruin which is every where reigning around them, and although despoiled

of foliage, as if they still loved to linger on the spot which once

bore witness to their magnificence.

Occasionally in our rambles we would fall upon a solitary Indian,

roaming through the woods, or seated in deep meditation upon the wreck

of some prostrate tree. It was the place for him. Let him look upon the

forests and read his own fate; they are united—their destinies are the

same; alike they have lived and flourished in the wildness of nature,

and alike they are disappearing before the approach of civilisation.

Let the Indian grieve at the sound of the woodman’s axe; for at the

fall of every tree the hour of his own ruin draws nearer.

From the time of our arrival at the garrison, small parties of Indians

had been constantly coming and going. They belonged to the Kickapoo

tribe; another band of emigrants from the States. There were many manly

forms among them, and some of their females were even beautiful. Scarce

a day elapsed that we did not catch a glimpse of the gaudily dressed

figures of some band, their tin trinkets glistening in the sunbeams,

and their bright garments fluttering in the wind, as they galloped over

the prairie towards the garrison. They carry on a species of traffic

with the sutler at the post; exchanging furs and skins for ribands,

and such other showy articles as are likely to catch the eye of a

savage. This tribe, from long intercourse with the inhabitants of the

settlements, have become accustomed to driving bargains, and are looked

upon by the generality of traders as pretty hard customers; yet even

from them, the profits derived by the whites are great.

From seeing these different bands constantly coming and going to

and from their village, we conceived a desire to visit them; and

accordingly, upon a fine clear morning, we started.

The path was for the most part through the woods. We rode about an

hour, crossed several brooks, traversed several small patches of

prairie, and at last found ourselves upon the summit of a high bluff

which overlooked the little Indian town, and commanded a fine view of

the whole neighbouring country. At our feet lay a small green prairie,

dotted with clusters of wild flowers. Three of its sides were enclosed

by a ridge of hills, at the foot of which meandered a clear, sparkling

brook, brawling in low murmurs over its rocky bottom. A long range of

trees stood upon its borders, leaning over the stream, and shading its

waters from the noontide sun. The fourth side of the green was hemmed

in by a dark thick forest, which extended back to the banks of the

Missouri.

In the edge of this stood the village of the Kickapoos. It fronted upon

the variegated green. It was a retired, rural spot, shut out from the

world, and looked as if it might have been free from its cares also.

As we stood upon the bluff, a small party of inhabitants from the

village moved towards a tree growing alone in the prairie, about a

quarter of a mile from the town, and collected together beneath its

shade. Presently, two young Indians made their appearance, mounted on

horseback. Suspecting that there was to be a race of some description,

we left the bluff, dashed through the brook at the bottom of the hill,

and in a few moments were under the tree where the group had assembled.

They received us in their usual calm manner, and we were satisfied; for

the welcome of an Indian is shown more by actions than words. There

is no superfluous expression of feelings which he never had—he never

makes use of hypocrisy—he receives you with a good will, or not at all.

By the time we reached the spot, the preparations were finished. A

little, hard-headed, old Indian was appointed umpire, and the two

riders were at their posts. They were both young men, dressed in

hunting shirts and cloth leggings. Their horses were not of the class

that might strictly be denominated racers. One was black, the other

cream-coloured. The black one had fierce little eyes glittering like

fire, beneath a long shaggy forelock, which reached nearly to his

nose. The eyes of the other were water-coloured, and had a sneaking

slyness about them—an air which seemed to insinuate that their owner

“knew a thing or two.” Both horses were round-bodied, bull-necked, and

the thick legs of both were garnished with fetlocks of matted hair,

extending from the knee joint down to the hoof, and trailing on the

ground as they walked. There was not much show of spirit about them.

They appeared but little ambitious of distinguishing themselves in the

coming contest; and if their own inclinations had been consulted, it is

probable, would have declined it altogether. Not so their riders; they

sat as eager as greyhounds in the leash. Their eyes were intently fixed

upon the umpire, who seemed to take the matter with wonderful coolness.

At last he gave the signal—there was a hard, quick thumping of heels,

against the ribs of the horses—the next moment they had vanished from

their posts. There was a great clattering over the hard course—their

bounds were short but rapid. At last the legs grew invisible, and

the bodies looked like two balls moving through the air. The riders

whooped and screamed, and the band of lookers-on shouted as loud as

either.

The little cream-coloured pony was working wonderfully hard, but the

black was gaining ground. There was a tree at some distance, which they

were to pass round, and return to the starting place. They reached

it, the black taking the lead by a length—his legs were invisible

as he turned, but the cream-coloured pony pushed him hard. They now

approached the goal.

“Two to one on the black!” shouted one of the whites.

“Lay it on, old boy, or you’re beaten!” halloed another.

Both riders exerted themselves to the utmost. They flew over the ground

like lightning. The black still kept the lead, but both horses seemed

to be eaten up with fury at being driven at such a rate. They rushed

snorting in—the crowd shouted, and opened a passage for them—they

dashed through, running nearly a hundred yards beyond the mark before

they could check their speed. The black pony had won, but he appeared

too angry to enjoy his victory. I looked at the other. _There_ he

stood—_there_ was that self-satisfied, water-coloured eye, which said,

“I may have been beaten, but still I know a thing or two.”

When the race was finished, we rode on and entered the town. About

thirty huts constructed of bark compose the village. It is impossible

to describe their architecture, for no two were built alike; and, as

far as I was able to judge, they had no particular shape. A strong gale

of wind would have prostrated even the best of them, had it not been

for the shelter of the forest in which they were built.

As we rode along, the troops of naked children who followed at our

heels convinced us that, among the sundry and manifold cares of the

world, this tribe had not forgotten to perpetuate their race; and,

notwithstanding their laziness, had contrived to start a fresh growth

of pappooses, that constituted the “rising generation,” and were then

undergoing the education usual to the Indian child. From what we saw,

there is little doubt that when the present race shall pass away,

the rising tribe will be fully qualified to inherit, in a creditable

manner, the laziness of their forefathers.

Here and there, winding through the woods, or strolling over the

prairie, might be seen a couple of cooing, greasy lovers; full of

affection and slovenliness; unwashed, but devoted. What a fund of

affection there must have been to have overlooked such a world of

defects! A loud cry broke out in one of the hovels, and a couple rushed

out. The first was a fat blowzy squaw. After her followed a diminutive,

spider-legged Indian, who looked as if he had withered away under the

gall of his own disposition. He was the lord and master of the lady.

In his hand he flourished a stick, with which he had been maintaining

that discipline by some deemed proper in a family, and which he now

seemed inclined to continue. The woman, however, escaped, and made for

the woods. The bystanders paused for a moment to look on; for there

was an agreeable excitement about this, which did not occur every day,

and which therefore was not to be lost. Upon the escape of his wife,

the little man looked around, as if he longed for some other object

upon which to vent the remainder of his wrath; but finding none, he

disconsolately entered his dwelling.

In the centre of the town is a small log house, the residence of the

agent appointed by the United States to reside with the tribe, and

attend to the payment of the annuities forwarded by the government to

this nation. We were cordially welcomed by him. We found the chief

and prophet of the tribe with him. The former was a corpulent man,

and in his youth must have been peculiarly handsome. The prophet was

a tall bony Indian, with a keen black eye, and a face beaming with

intelligence. He was leaning upon the muzzle of a long rifle when we

entered. This he laid aside, and with the assistance of an interpreter,

commenced a conversation with us. It was something unusual for him, as

he generally kept aloof from intercourse with the whites. He had been

converted to Christianity, and on Sundays delivered addresses upon

this subject to the tribe.

There is an energy of character about him, which gives much weight to

his words, and has created for him an influence greater than that of

any Indian in the town. From the little that we saw, it was evident

that the chief yielded to him, and listened to his remarks with the

deference of one who acknowledged his superiority. There was, however,

no appearance of jealousy or heart-burning between them.

It was late in the afternoon before we left. The sun was fast sinking

in the west, and his last beams were resting on the tree tops, as

we rode out of the woods. One hour’s ride, brought us again to our

quarters at the cantonment.

CHAP. IX.

DEPARTURE FOR THE PAWNEES.—PRAIRIE LIFE.

Several weeks had elapsed, since our arrival at the garrison; yet

the other commissioner had not made his appearance. Mr. Ellsworth

determined, therefore, to set out without him for the Pawnee villages.

The state of the garrison, enfeebled by sickness, did not allow of

a sufficient escort to overawe the savages. He therefore took the

bold alternative of throwing himself among them, in a manner unarmed,

piquing their honour and hospitality by this mark of confidence.

Seven soldiers constituted the whole of the military escort: merely

sufficient to protect us from any petty, prowling band.

The two servants, Mordecai and Joseph, who had hitherto accompanied us,

were to have charge of the two light waggons—in which were packed our

bedding, baggage, and camp furniture. We had also engaged the service

of a negro as cook.

Our own mess was increased by the addition of Major Dougherty from

St. Louis, the agent for the Pawnee Indians, and Dr. May, a surgeon

resident in Missouri.

On the morning previous to the day of departure, the soldiers commenced

loading two heavy ox waggons with kegs of gunpowder, barrels of flour,

sacks of bacon, tents and cooking utensils, besides boxes and bales

containing presents for the Indians. Towards evening, a cessation of

swearing in the neighbourhood of the storehouse, gave token that the

task was accomplished. In the course of an hour, half a dozen oxen

were yoked before each waggon, and conducted by two wild teamsters.

They departed under escort of the seven soldiers. The whole were to

encamp on a small stream a few miles distant, and await our coming. Our

party, six in number, were to follow their trail on horseback on the

succeeding morning.

The sun rose cheerily over the tops of the trees on the day following,

and we prepared to leave. There was quite an excitement in the

garrison. Kind wishes and farewells were exchanged. Many who had been

anxious to join the troop, in their journey through this unknown land,

now hung round with longing eyes. There was a mystery and shadowy

danger, which threw a high excitement around the whole expedition.

Nothing was positive about the wild tribes we were to visit. It was

known that their numbers were large; it was reported that they were

cruel and unsparing in their nature, that they looked upon the whites

as their bitterest enemies, and carried on a war of extermination

against the whole race. By way of adding to the agreeable excitement,

two or three had collected all the tales of murder and bloodshed

committed by the Indians since the discovery of America, and poured

them into our ears, with a most edifying accompaniment of long faces

and evil prophecies. They foretold that we should never again be seen

at Leavenworth; or, at all events, that if we did it would be stripped

of our scalps. They thought, as these were the most desirable trophies,

perhaps the Indians would have the generosity to permit our return,

provided we left them behind. These, and many other predictions of an

equally comforting nature, were conveyed to us by a number who buzzed

around us as we were getting ready. They, however, at last took their

leave, not forgetting to give us the rather unnecessary caution, to

“take care and not get killed.”

It was near mid-day when we set out. Our little cavalcade clattered

over the hard walks until we reached the road. Galloping over the

prairie, we at length came upon the broad trail left by the heavy

baggage waggons, as they had passed through the high grass.

A number of the officers accompanied us several miles, but at length

they took their leave, and left us to journey onward in our pilgrimage.

As long as we were in the garrison, where the busy face of man was

seen, where active forms were moving around us, and the every-day

concerns of life were going forward, we felt that, though distant from

home, we were still connected with society; but when we had started on

our journey, and bade farewell to those who had accompanied us, as we

watched their forms until they were hid by the distant hills, we felt

that the last link was broken, which had hitherto united us to the

world and its occupations.

It was intended first to strike up in a northerly direction, until we

reached the village of the Otoe and Missouria Indians, situated upon

the Platte river, about twenty miles north-west of its junction with

the Missouri. Thence the Platte was to be our guide, until we came upon

the Pawnee towns. They are seated on its banks, some five or six days’

journey further to the westward.

During our stay at the garrison a change had come over the face of

nature. The bright and luxurious summer flowers had disappeared; a

growth of yellow and blue, the harbingers of the departing year,

supplied their places. Here and there might be seen a single red

flower, the survivor of those which had flourished in the summer,

shooting up its head amidst clusters of golden-hued blossoms, still

lingering, though a stranger among them. The deep richness of foliage

which graced the trees had departed, and the brown tinge of autumn

was creeping among the leaves. The bright soft green was disappearing

from the prairie grass, giving place to a colour of greenish brown.

The geese and pelicans had left their lives of solitude, and forming

themselves into large flocks, were winging their way to the north;

the wind swept over the rustling grass with a moaning sound that spoke

strongly of the approach of winter.

At this season we commenced our travel. It was late in the afternoon

when we reached the spot where the soldiers had encamped. It was on

the side of a small prairie hill. Within a few yards of their tents,

a scanty run of water stole through the grass; and at the distance of

about a hundred yards stood a grove of timber, which supplied the fuel

necessary for their night fires.

There is but little variety on the prairie. The life of one day is the

life of a month; yet there is an excitement about it. The killing of a

deer is an era in the day. The appearance of a hunter upon a distant

hill would give birth to a thousand speculations, as to his success in

the chase. The sight of a deer standing upon an eminence, or reclining

in some hollow, was a signal for bustle. There was an intense interest

excited, in watching the movements of the hunters, as they stole down

upon him. As they drew near every eye was fixed, even the breath was

restrained: the animal scents them in the tainted air; the hunters

crouch in the tall grass and creep onward; the deer rises to his feet;

his nose is raised high in the air; he begins to walk off. Now is the

time! Crack!—sounds the rifle. In five minutes, he is far beyond sight,

or two hunters are staggering beneath his weight, as they bring him to

the camp.

The sight of foot prints in the grass would be the foundation of a

hundred wild fancies. By whom were they made? by members of what tribe?

were they friends or foes? where were they going? was it a war party

or a hunting party? These and a hundred other conjectures would be

offered, by a knot collected around the suspicious mark, denoting that

others besides ourselves had passed in that direction, and that we were

not the only beings wandering upon that waste.

CHAP. X.

THE PARTY OF SAC INDIANS.

We had been absent about a week from the garrison, and had traversed

nearly a hundred miles of prairie and woodland. Our encampment during

the night previous had been upon the borders of a small prairie

rivulet, which meandered through the country, overhung by a fringe

of bushes and trees. Several times during the day previous, foot

prints had been observed in the grass; and the whole party were on the

look-out for Indians. At night, lest the horses should stray from the

camp, and be driven off by lurking marauders, they had been secured by

long ropes to stakes. The night, however, passed without disturbance;

and in the morning the tents were struck, and the party resumed its

journey.

As the movements of the waggons were necessarily tardy, four of us

strolled forward on foot. We were several miles in advance of the

party. We travelled slowly that they might overtake us, amusing

ourselves by discharging our rifles at the ravens or vultures which

soared above our heads. Sometimes we diverged a little from our path,

to get a shot at the deer, which we now and then saw standing at a

little distance, gazing with surprise at our appearance.

We were out of sight of the waggons. In front of us, at the distance

of a quarter of a mile, rose a swelling cone-like hill. From each

side of it extended a long ridge, effectually shutting out the view

beyond. Presently a black object rose over its top. Gradually it

grew larger and larger, until the tall, stately form of an Indian

appeared, and stood watching our movements. A moment after, another

joined him; he was followed by a third, who took his stand by the side

of his comrades. For some moments there appeared to be a consultation

among them; then seating themselves, they waited for us to come up.

The position which they had taken was directly upon the narrow trail

we were following; so that whether friends or foes, there was no

possibility of avoiding them. But as there were only three, there was

little to be apprehended. Before advancing, however, the soldiers took

the precaution to hammer their flints, and renew the priming of their

guns. While thus engaged, one of them named Wolf, a tall, gigantic

fellow, with a neck like a bull’s, who had fought against Black Hawk,

took the opportunity to bestow a little of his advice and opinion upon

the others, and turning round he commenced:—

“You see them ar Ingens; well, them is Sacs and Foxes. I know ’em, for

I _fit_ agin ’em when Black Hawk led ’em on. And now I think on’t:

it’s dreadful aggravating to see how the folks at the east’ard are

honouring that ar rascal for killing and murdering the whites, while

we who _fit_ agin him to prevent it, a’int taken no notice on; it’s

monstrous aggravating. But that a’int nothing to the _pint_. You see

them ar Ingens on that ar hill. Now you think there’s only three on

’em. There you think a lie—bekase there’s more behind ’em;—for if

there wa’rnt they would come on to meet us, and wouldn’t be squatting

like so many woodchucks in the _parara_. They’m waiting for the rest

to come up, to see whether they think it best to rob us or not.

That’s my opinion, and I know something of Ingen natur, for I _fit_

agin ’em. Now I know one what they won’t rob, and that’s me; first,

bekase I ai’nt got nothing to lose; and second, bekase I intend to

make my yager[E] speak to the first red skin what tries to take it.

And now, my boys, move a-head—keep a stiff upper lip, and don’t be in

a hurry to use your _wepons_. If the worst comes to the worst, we can

keep ’em off until the wagons come up, and then we’ll lick ’em.”

[E] This is a short rifle, and carries a very large ball. They are used

by the U. S. dragoons, on account of the convenience of their length.

After finishing his address, he shouldered his yager and strode on,

followed by the rest of us. Notwithstanding his knowledge of “Ingen

natur,” we did not place as much confidence in his experience as

he might have supposed; nor did we expect to push matters to the

extremity, which he seemed to take for granted would be the result of

our meeting. In five minutes we were at the bottom of the hill. The

savages maintained their sitting posture on the summit, nor did they

rise until we came within about ten yards of them. Upon reaching them

we found that the soldier had been correct in one of his conjectures;

for at the distance of little less than a quarter of a mile, were about

seventy more of the same band, driving in front of them a large drove

of horses. They were all wild, uncouth looking fellows. Some few were

dressed in blankets, but the most of them in robes of buffalo skin. At

the sight of us they raised a loud yell, and leaving their horses to

the charge of one or two squaws, scampered over the prairie to meet us.

“I told you so,” said Wolf. “Look to your guns, and when they crowds

around, keep a tight grip on the _wepons_, but don’t fire till it comes

to the pinch.”

The crowd poured on towards us, each endeavouring to outrun his

neighbour. Many threw from them the robes which impeded their motions,

and several pulling them from their shoulders, packed them under their

arms. Yet they appeared to be actuated by curiosity alone. But one

of them had a gun; the rest were armed with bows and tomahawks. Upon

reaching us, they pressed round, fingering our different articles of

dress with much curiosity, though without any appearance of hostility

towards the owners. At length they drew round in a closer crowd, and

began to hustle us. Suddenly a tall, thin fellow grasped hold of

Wolf’s yager.

“No you don’t, _stranger_!” shouted Wolf, jerking the gun from his

grasp, with the look of a nettled bull. At the same time he whirled

the Indian off, with a violence that fairly made him spin, and nearly

prostrated two others, whom he encountered in his involuntary movement.

“Keep off, you red devils,” said he, stepping back, “I wants none of

your _neighbourship_.” Seizing his gun by the muzzle, he whirled the

breech around with a violence which caused the Indians to draw back,

and cleared a small circle around him.

At this moment the chief, or person who seemed to have charge of the

party, made his appearance. He spoke a few words to the band, which

caused them to draw off; then walking his horse up to us, he cordially

shook hands with all. He was an old man, dressed in Indian style, with

the exception of a plaid handkerchief, tied round his head. Upon the

top of this was mounted a broad-brimmed black hat, shadowing a little,

dried up, French-looking physiognomy. Agreeable as his presence was at

that moment, there was but little about him, to justify the high idea

we had formed, of the leader of a wild band of savages; and there were

many nobler men in his troop. As they stood in a large circle around

us, I think I never beheld such a number of proud spirits, as were

there. It seemed strange that they should all be at the command of such

a miserable looking little leader.

While we were standing thus, a loud whoop from one attracted the

attention of the whole band. The next moment the unwieldy waggons came

toiling along a ridge at a distance, followed by the light dearborns,

and a train of four soldiers.

At this discovery the Indians broke away, scampered towards them, and

in a short time were all clustering round the vehicles. They remained

there about half an hour, and then resumed their journey along the

prairie.

CHAP. XI.

THE JOURNEY.—SALINE RIVER.

Another week had elapsed, but still we were on our journey. With the

exception of the band of Sac and Fox Indians, we had met with no other

savages. We were the only human beings who lived and moved upon the

wide waste. Nothing else was visible—not a deer, not a tree—all was

prairie—a wide unbroken sea of green—where hollow succeeded hollow,

and the long grass waved on the hills, with a heavy surge-like motion,

until at last it was blended with the hazy atmosphere, which met the

horizon. The power of sight was shut out by nothing; it had its full

scope, and we gazed around until our eyes ached with the very vastness

of the view that lay before them. There was a degree of pain, of

loneliness, in the scene. A tree would have been a companion, a friend.

It would have thrown an air of sociability over the face of nature, but

there was none. The annual fires which sweep over the whole face of the

country, during the autumn of every year, effectually destroy any thing

of the kind. There will be no forest as long as the Indians possess

these regions; for every year, when the season of hunting arrives,

they set fire to the long dry grass. Once fairly on its errand, the

destructive messenger speeds onward, licking up every blade and

every bush, until some strip of timber, whose tall trees protect the

shrubbery by the dampness which they diffuse beneath, or some stream,

stops it in its desolating path. The object of burning the grass is

to drive the deer and elk, that are roving over the broad extent of

prairie, into the small groves of timber scattered over the surface.

Once enclosed within these thickets, they fall an easy prey to the

hunters.

We at last reached the Platte[F] river, about forty miles distant from

the Otoe village; then striking off to the west, we followed the course

of this powerful tributary of the Missouri.

[F] The Indian name for La Platte is _Nie-borahka_, signifying the

shallow river; as also the word _Nie-agaruh_ signifies the broken

river. This last word might lead to a pretty correct conclusion as to

the meaning of the name Niagara, given to the celebrated river and

falls connecting Lake Erie with Ontario; for the word is the same among

several of the different tribes, who, though they now dwell in the “far

west,” may nevertheless have once roamed in the neighbourhood of our

eastern waters.

On the first night, our little camp was placed upon a high bank of

the Saline river, which flows through the prairie until it empties

into the Platte. During the spring of every year moisture exudes from

the soil near its source, covering the prairie for the distance of

many miles. This is dried up by the heat of summer, and leaves in its

place a thick incrustation of salt. This is in turn dissolved by every

successive rain, and carried off into the Saline river, giving to its

water the brackish taste, from which it has derived its name. There is

a barrenness around the stream, contrasting strongly with the other

rivers that grace the prairie. Around _them_ is always a rich forest

of the deepest, rankest green. Every thing marks the luxuriance of the

soil, and the nourishment yielded by the streams to the lofty trees

which hang like guardians over their waters.

But the Saline is far different. There are no groves to fringe its

banks. Here and there the huge grey forms of a few dead trees may be

seen leaning with a melancholy grandeur over its surface, or lying

prostrate in the river, while its waters gurgle with a mournful sound

around the branches of these fallen giants. There is a cheerless

look about it. It winds its way through the prairie with a withering

influence, blighting every green shrub; and seems to bear an ill-will

to all the bright beauties of creation.

I strayed some distance down the stream, pattering my rifle bullets on

the water, to the great annoyance of several ducks who were quietly

dozing upon its surface, and some sprawling old terrapins who were

floating down the stream, enjoying an evening sail.

A loud hail from the camp, and the voice of Mordecai announcing that

supper was ready, recalled me to the spot. The roasted shoulder and

ribs of a large buck were impaled upon a stake of dogwood, planted

in the ground in front of the mess. They had already commenced their

meal, with knives of all sizes and descriptions, and the mass of meat

disappeared like magic before their reiterated attacks. Though at all

times very well qualified to act a conspicuous part in a warfare of

that description, they were now more than usually fitted for the task,

owing to their eating only two meals a day—one at sunrise and one at

sunset—the rest of the time being occupied in journeying over the

prairie. By the time that we finished, the sun had sunk in the west,

and the stars were glimmering in the sky. Our party collected round the

large fire of blazing logs, and our guide having lighted his Indian

pipe, related to us an Indian tale, of which the following is the

purport.

“About forty miles above the spot where we are now encamped, lie the

great salt plains, which cause the brackish taste of the Saline river.

In one part of these plains, is a large rock of pure salt of dazzling

whiteness, which is highly prized by the Indians, and to which is

attached the following story.”

CHAP. XII.

THE LEGEND OF THE SALINE RIVER.

Many years since, long before the whites had extended their march

beyond the banks of the Mississippi river, a tribe of Indians resided

upon the Platte, near its junction with the Saline. Among these was

one, the chief warrior of the nation, celebrated throughout all the

neighbouring country, for his fierce and unsparing disposition. Not a

hostile village within several hundred miles, but wailed for those who

had fallen beneath his arm; not a brook, but had run red with the blood

of his victims. He was for ever engaged in plotting destruction to his

enemies. He led his warriors from one village to another, carrying

death to the inhabitants, and desolation to their homes. He was a

terror to old and young.

Often, alone and unattended, would he steal off, to bathe his hands in

blood, and add new victims to the countless number of those whom he

had already slain. But fearful as he was to the hostile tribes, he was

equally dreaded by his own people. They gloried in him as their leader,

but shrank from all fellowship with him. His lodge was deserted, and

even in the midst of his own nation he was alone. Yet there was one

being who clung to him, and loved him, in defiance of the sternness of

his rugged nature. It was the daughter of the chief of the village; a

beautiful girl, and graceful as one of the fawns of her own prairie.

Though she had many admirers, yet when the warrior declared his

intention of asking her of her father, none dared come in competition

with so formidable a rival. She became his wife, and he loved her with

all the fierce energy of his nature. It was a new feeling to him. It

stole like a sunbeam, over the dark passions of his heart. His feelings

gushed forth, to meet the warm affection of the only being that had

ever loved him. Her sway over him was unbounded. He was as a tiger

tamed. But this did not last long. She died; he buried her; he uttered

no wail, he shed no tear. He returned to his lonely lodge, and forbade

all entrance. No sound of grief was heard from it—all was silent as

the tomb. The morning came, and with its earliest dawn he left the

lodge. His body was covered with war paint, and he was fully armed

as if for some expedition. His eye was the same; there was the same

sullen fire that had ever shot from its deep sunk socket. There was no

wavering of a single feature; there was not the shrinking of a single

muscle. He took no notice of those around him; but walked gloomily to

the spot where his wife was buried. He paused for a moment over the

grave—plucked a wild flower from among grass, and cast it upon the

upturned sod. Then turning on his heel, strode across the prairie.

After the lapse of a month, he returned to his village, laden with the

scalps of men, women, and children, which he hung in the smoke of his

lodge. He tarried but a day among the tribe, and again set off, lonely

as ever. A week elapsed, and he returned, bringing with him a large

lump of white salt. In a few words he told his tale. He had travelled

many miles over the prairie. The sun had set in the west, and the

moon was just rising above the verge of the horizon. The Indian was

weary, and threw himself on the grass. He had not slept long, when he

was awakened by the low wailing of a female. He started up, and at a

little distance, by the light of the moon, beheld an old, decrepit

hag, brandishing a tomahawk over the head of a young female, who was

kneeling, imploring mercy.

The warrior wondered how two females could be at this spot, alone, and

at that hour of the night; for there was no village within forty miles

of the place. There could be no hunting party near, or he would have

discovered it. He approached them; but they seemed unconscious of his

presence. The young female finding her prayers unheeded, sprang up, and

made a desperate attempt to get possession of the tomahawk. A furious

struggle ensued, but the old woman was victorious. Twisting one hand in

the long black hair of her victim, she raised the weapon in her other,

and prepared to strike. The face of the young female was turned to the

light, and the warrior beheld with horror, the features of his deceased

wife. In an instant he sprang forward, and his tomahawk was buried

in the skull of the old squaw. But ere he had time to clasp the form

of his wife, the ground opened, both sank from his sight, and on the

spot appeared a rock of white salt. He had broken a piece from it, and

brought it to his tribe.

This tradition is still current among the different tribes of Indians

frequenting that portion of the country. They also imagine, that the

rock is still under custody of the old squaw, and that the only way

to obtain a portion of it, is to attack her. For this reason, before

attempting to collect salt, they beat the ground with clubs and

tomahawks, and each blow is considered as inflicted upon the person of

the hag. The ceremony is continued, until they imagine she has been

sufficiently belaboured, to resign her treasure without opposition.

This superstition, though privately ridiculed by the chiefs of the

different tribes, is still practised by them, and most devoutly

credited by the rabble.

CHAP. XIII.

THE OTOE MESSENGERS.

On the afternoon following, a little before sunset, we encamped within

ten miles of the Otoe village. Several times during the day, we had

observed the heads of Indians, peering over the hills, but they had

instantly disappeared upon being remarked, nor had an Indian ventured

to approach. Our place of encampment was on a small knoll. At its foot,

a meagre run of impure water was struggling through the grass, while a

long line of tall, rank weeds marked its course, as it wound a passage

along the different hollows. A solitary tree grew over a small puddle,

which had formed in the prairie; and a cluster of wild plum trees were

knotted together around its trunk. With these exceptions, there was not

a tree or a bush in sight.

At a little distance from us was the site of a deserted Indian village.

It had been uninhabited for many years, and the stations where the

lodges once stood were overgrown with weeds and creeping vines. A short

distance off was the burial ground of the place, which evidently had

not been visited for a long time. The tall grass waved upon the large

mounds, and the frightened prairie hen started up from the resting

places of the dead.

We had scarcely encamped, and fixed up the largest tent, when the loud

cry, “Indian a-head!” was bellowed out by the stentorian lungs of one

of the soldiers.

The savage was on a hill, about five hundred yards distant. He was

mounted upon a small black horse; clothed in a scarlet blanket, and

in his hand held a long spear. He sat for some moments watching our

movements; then thumping his heels into the sides of his horse, he

dashed across a hollow that intervened, and galloped to the door of the

tent. Here he sprang from the animal, and turning him loose, walked up

to the guide. They were well acquainted; but his salutation was calm

and cold; a slight smile played over his face, for a moment, as he

recognized him, then all was quiet. His features were like stone; and

whatever passions may have lurked within his bosom, his countenance was

not the mirror that reflected them. He was attired in the wild garb of

those Indians, who as yet had but little intercourse with the whites.

A pair of rough leggings were drawn over his legs, and a piece of blue

cloth was secured around his hips. The rest of his body was unclothed,

unless the red blanket, which most of the time, lay on the ground at

his feet, might have been considered part of his apparel.

The chief of the Otoe village had been apprised of our approach, and

had sent this warrior to watch, lest we should come upon the town

before it was prepared for our reception. He hung around the tent for

some time, saying little; but we could see, that while his face was

apparently turned towards the ground, his dark eyes were moving with

restless activity in every direction, scanning every action of the

party. He remained with us a short time; then having received a few

presents for the chiefs and one or two for himself, he caught the end

of the buffalo tug, which though secured to the neck of his horse, was

long enough to trail twenty feet after him in the grass—and with a

sudden jerk brought the animal to him and sprang upon his back.

He had scarcely mounted, before another Indian appeared on an opposite

hill, and galloped towards us. He exchanged a slight salutation with

the first comer, and passing him, shook hands with the guide. There

was more cordiality about him, than we had observed in the other, and

his face wanted the cold reserve, which marked that of the first. Upon

reaching the tent, he immediately signified his intention to remain

during the night, and accordingly turned loose the small white horse

upon which he rode. Then lighting his pipe, he wrapped his blanket

round him, and quietly seated himself near the fire—watching the cook,

who was busily engaged in preparing supper.

The other, finding what was his intention, started off towards the

village, and in a few moments was out of sight.

CHAP. XIV.

AN OTOE WARRIOR.—THE IOTAN CHIEF.

The whole prairie was glowing with the rays of the morning sun when we

started for the Otoe village. Our journey lay for the whole distance,

along the borders of the Platte. It was a soft golden morning, and the

water danced with a very air of happiness, sparkling and bubbling in

silver and rainbow brightness, as it scudded along its broad channel.

Its surface was studded with islands, teeming with verdure, and tinted

with all the various hues of autumn. The birds were piping out their

matin hymns, and the fish were splashing sportively beneath their

watery covering, sending a thousand silver circlets eddying onward to

the shore. The prairie grass was bending beneath the dew-drops, which

hung like strings of crystal upon their withering blades.

The heavy waggons were now kept closely together. The whole party,

which during the first part of the journey had straggled widely apart,

were collected. Our Otoe friend rode in front, accompanied by Major

D——, the Indian agent. We had travelled for several miles, when we

observed a single Indian galloping towards us on a large spotted horse.

In a few moments he came up. He was one of the principal braves of the

Otoe nation. He was completely naked, with the exception of a small

piece of cloth secured around his hips. His head was shaven, and to

the scalp-lock was attached an ornament of deer’s hair, resembling the

crest of an ancient helmet. His whole person, head, face, and body,

had been covered with vermilion, until it was the colour of blood, and

at a few yards’ distance, he looked as if he had been skinned alive.

But notwithstanding his bloody appearance, his countenance, though

calm and grave, had a mild expression not usually met with among the

Indians. His whole demeanour was prepossessing, and when he spoke,

his voice was like soft music. He was a favourite with most of the

wild traders in that part of the country, on account of his generous

character. If a stranger entered the village, he was the first to

welcome him to his lodge, and to protect him from the insults of the

meaner spirits of his nation. Yet even with this chivalrous nature,

he was an Indian warrior, and an Indian warrior is little better than

a murderer. He had counted as many scalps as any of his nation; but

those of hoary age, of the woman and the child, were hanging in the

smoke of his lodge, in companionship with those of the war-worn warrior.

In an hour’s time we arrived within a short distance of the village,

though as yet it was hidden from our sight by a high bluff. Suddenly, a

horseman dashed from behind it, and came towards us, plying his lash,

and urging his horse forward at a mad speed. The cry of “The Iotan!”

burst from several who had before seen him; and in a few moments this

redoubtable chief was by our side. He had evidently brought into

service the whole of his wardrobe, much of which he had received from

the whites. His hair was long, and round it was bound a large piece of

skin from the head of the grisly bear. Round his neck, hung a necklace

of the claws of the same animal; and what was of more importance in

his estimation, he was clothed in a long surtout coat of blue cloth,

adorned with red facings, and enormously large brass buttons, and

garnished upon each shoulder, with a pair of tarnished, sickly-looking,

silver epaulettes. From beneath the skirts of the coat appeared two

bare legs; and he wore a pair of coarse mocassins of buffalo hide.

There was a look of comic slyness lurking around the eyes of this

chief, united with an irascible twinkle, which bespoke a character

habitually good natured, but prone to occasional gusts of passion. The

most prominent feature of his face, however, had suffered mutilation.

The end of his nose was wanting. I was curious to learn, whether this

singular wound had been received in battle or private brawl; and my

inquiries made me acquainted with a curious tale of Indian revenge.

There are a dozen different versions of the story, in circulation

among the traders and trappers; but as far as I could ascertain, the

following is the most correct.

CHAP. XV.

THE IOTAN AND HIS BROTHER, OR INDIAN REVENGE.

It was some years before the Iotan had reached the rank of a chief,

that he was despoiled of his nose in the following manner:—

Several Otoe Indians, by dint of paying fifty times their value, had

become possessed of a number of kegs of whiskey. As this was rather

a rarity, a council was called, and a general carousal of the male

portion of the village resolved upon. The females were excluded: it

being deemed necessary that they should remain sober, to exercise a

conjugal care over their husbands, when so inebriated as to be unable

to take care of themselves. In the mean time, a person was appointed as

guard, whose business it was to keep watch over the liquor, and drive

off all interlopers, who might be inclined to test its quality before

the time appointed. After three long, and to them lingering days, the

time came round; and at the appointed hour not a soul was behindhand.

The signal was given, and the revel commenced. As the liquor began

to work upon the passions of the revellers, they grew furious. They

howled, yelled, and fought. The females fled from the building.

All weapons had been removed beforehand; for they knew their own

ungovernable nature, when under the influence of liquor, and,

therefore, had taken precautions to prevent the occurrence of mischief.

But when the whiskey commenced its work, the savage was changed to a

demon, and the lodge resounded with their screams and howling; there

was a hell within its bosom.

The giant warrior fixed his gripe upon the trembling frame of the aged;

brother smote brother; friends fought with bitter fury, and the weak

and decrepit were trampled under foot.

It was in this stage of the riot that the Iotan and his brother had

a furious scuffle. They grappled and rolled upon the ground. In the

frenzy of strife and intoxication, his brother bit off the end of his

nose, and instantly extricating himself, rushed out of the lodge.

The Iotan was perfectly sobered; he paused for a moment, looking

intently in the fire, without uttering a word; then drawing his blanket

over his head, walked out of the building and hid himself in his own

lodge. On the following morning he sought his brother, and told him

that he had disfigured him for life: “tonight,” said he, “I will go

to my lodge and sleep; if I can forgive you when the sun rises, you are

safe; if not, you die.” He kept his word; he slept upon his purpose;

but sleep brought not mercy. He sent word to his brother that he had

resolved upon his death, that there was no further hope for him; at the

same time he besought him to make no resistance, but to meet his fate

as a warrior should.

His brother received the message and fled from the village. An Indian

is untiring in his pursuit of revenge, and though years may elapse, yet

he will obtain it in the end. From the time that it became the fixed

purpose of the Iotan to slay his brother, his assiduity never slept;

he hunted him for months. He pursued his trail over the prairies; he

followed his track from one thicket to another; he traced him through

the friendly villages, but without success; for although he was

untiring, his brother was watchful, and kept out of his way. The old

warrior then changed his plan of action. He laid in wait for him in

the forest, crouching like a tiger, in the paths which he thought he

might frequent in hunting, but he was for a long time unsuccessful. At

length, one day, while seated on a dead tree, he heard the crackling

noise of a twig breaking beneath a cautious footstep. He instantly

crouched behind the log and watched the opposite thicket. Presently

an Indian emerged from it, and gazed cautiously around. The Iotan

recognized his brother instantly. His careworn face and emaciated

form evinced the anxiety and privations that he had suffered. But this

was nothing to the Iotan; as yet his revenge was unsated, and the

miserable appearance of his brother touched no chord of his heart. He

waited until he was within a few feet of him; then sprang from his

lurking place and met him face to face. His brother was unarmed; but

met his fiery look with calmness and without flinching.

“Ha! ha! brother,” cried the Iotan, cocking his rifle, “I have

followed you long, in vain,—now I have you—you must die.”

The other made no reply; but throwing off his blanket, stepped before

him, and presented his breast. The Iotan raised his rifle and shot him

through the heart.

His revenge was gratified; but from that hour a change came over him.

He became gloomy and morose; shunned the society of his fellow-men,

and roamed the woods, where he was nearly driven to suicide by the

workings of his feelings, and the phantasies of his brain. It was not

until many years had elapsed, that he recovered from the deep anguish

caused by this unnatural act of vengeance.

CHAP. XVI.

THE RECEPTION.—THE TOWN.

It was many years after this savage deed that the Iotan was appointed

chief of the Otoe tribe, and his after conduct fully justified the

choice of the nation. To an ingenious skill in devising and planning

war parties, he added a desperate daring in carrying them into effect.

And though now well stricken in years, there is no warrior more

constantly lurking in the path of the enemy, and when it comes to the

deadly struggle, no voice is raised in a louder war whoop, and no arm

falls heavier upon their foes, than that of the Iotan chief.

The old warrior welcomed us cordially, then turning round, he rode

with us in the direction of his village. While he was speaking with

the commissioner, several dusky forms clambered the high bluff before

us, and stood upon its dizzy verge, watching our movements. Suddenly

the Iotan galloped a few yards in front, and waved his arm, uttering a

long, shrill yell. It was answered by a loud whoop from those on the

hill; who instantly commenced whirling their blankets around their

heads. Then all was silent.