_La Morgue_--The Catacombs--The Doctor's dream--Their great
alarm--Visit to the _Hippodrome_--Jim riding M. Franconi's
horse--Indians in the Woods of Boulogne--Fright of the
rabbits--Jim and the Doctor at the _Bal Mabille_, Champs
Elysées--At the _Masquerade, Grand Opera_--Their opinions
and criticisms on them--Frenchwomen at confession in St.
Roch--Doctor's ideas of it--Jim's speech--"_Industrious
fleas_"--Death of the wife of Little Wolf--Her
baptism--Husband's distress--Her funeral in the Madeleine--Her
burial in Montmartre--Council held--Indians resolve to return
to America--Preparations to depart in a few days--_Bobasheela_
goes to London to ship their boxes to New York--He returns,
and accompanies the Indians to Havre--Indians take leave of
_Chippehola_ (the Author)--M. Vattemare accompanies them to
Havre--Kindly treated by Mr. Winslow, an American gentleman, at
Havre--A splendid dinner, and _(Queen's) Chickabobboo_--Indians
embark--Taking leave of _Bobasheela_--Illness of the Author's
lady--His alarm and distress--Her death--Obituary--Her remains
embalmed and sent to New York.
After their exhibition was over, and they had taken their dinner
and _chickabobboo_ (at the former of which they had had the company
of their old friend _Bobasheela_), their pipe was lit, and the
conversation resumed about the French ladies, for whom Jim's dislike
was daily increasing, and with his dislike, his slanderous propensity.
He could not divest his mind of the 9000 illegitimate and abandoned
little babies that he had seen, and the affection for dogs, which,
instead of _exposing_, they secure with ribbons, and hold one end in
their hands, or tie it to their apron-strings. This was a subject so
glaring to Jim's imagination, that he was quite fluent upon it at
a moment's warning, even when standing up or sitting, without the
necessity of resorting to his usual and eccentric attitude. This
facility caused him to be more lavish of his abuse, and at every
interview in the rooms he seemed to be constantly frowning upon the
ladies, and studying some new cause for abusing them, and drawing Mr.
Melody and the Doctor into debates when they got back to their own
apartments. Such was the nature of the debate he had just been waging,
and which he had ended in his usual way, with the last word to himself,
"I no care; me no like em."
The subject was here changed, however, by Mr. Melody's reminding them
that this day was the time they had set to visit the _Morgue_ and the
_Catacombs_, for which an order had been procured. These had been
the favourite themes for some days; and there had been the greatest
impatience expressed to go and see the naked dead bodies of the
murdered and _felo-de-ses_ daily stretched out in the one, and the
five millions of skulls and other human bones that are laid up like
cobhouses under great part of the city. _Bobasheela_ had described
to them the wonders of this awful place, which he had been in on a
former occasion, and Daniel had read descriptions from books while the
Indians had smoked many a pipe; but when the subject was mentioned on
this occasion, there were evident proofs instantly shown that some
influence had produced a different effect upon their minds, and that
they were no longer anxious to go. M. Vattemare, in speaking of the
Catacombs a few days before, had said that about a year ago two young
men from the West Indies came to Paris, and, getting an order to visit
the Catacombs, entered them, and, leaving their guide, strolled so far
away that they never got out, and never have been found, but their
groans and cries are still often heard under different parts of the
city. But the immediate difficulty with the Indians was a dream the
Doctor had had the night before, and which he had been relating to
them. He had not, he said, dreamed anything about the Catacombs, but he
had seen _See-catch-e-wee-be_, the one-eyed wife of the "_fire-eater_"
(a sorcerer of their tribe), who had followed his track all the way
to the great village of the whites (London), and from that to Paris,
where he saw her sitting on a bridge over the water; that she gave
him a pair of new mocassins of moose-skin, and told him that the
_Gitchee Manitou_ (the Great Spirit) had been very kind in not allowing
him and _Wash-ka-mon-ya_ (Jim) to go under the ground in the Great
Village of the Whites, in England, and their lives were thereby saved.
She then went under an old woman's basket, who was selling apples,
and disappeared. He could not understand why he should have such a
vision as this the very night before they were to go underground to
the Catacombs, unless it was to warn him of the catastrophe that
might befall them if they were to make their visit there, as they had
designed. They had smoked several pipes upon this information early
in the morning, and the chiefs had closely questioned him and also
consulted him as their oracle in all such cases, and had unanimously
come to the conclusion that these were foreboding prognostications
sufficient to decide it to be at least prudent to abandon their
project, and thereby be sure to run no hazard.[40]
[40] The place they had escaped in the great village of the whites
they had been told was a Hell. It had been explained to them,
however, that there were several of those places in London,
and that they were only _imitations_ of hell, but they seemed
to believe that these catacombs (as there were so many
millions of the bones of Frenchmen gone into them) might be
the real hell of the pale-faces, and it was best to run no
risk.
Mr. Melody and myself both agreed that their resolve placed them on
the safe side at all events, and that we thought them wise in making
it if they saw the least cause for apprehension. "They could easily
run to the river, however, in their drive, and see the other place,
the _Morgue_;" but that could not, on any account, be undertaken, as
the two objects had been planned out for the same visit; and, from the
Doctor's dream, it did not appear in the least certain in which of the
places they were liable to incur the risk, and therefore they thought
it best not to go to either. There was a great deal yet to see above
ground, and quite as much as they should be able to see in the little
time they had yet to remain there, and which would be much pleasanter
to look at than white men's bones under ground.
Their minds were filled with amazement on this wonderful subject; but
their curiosity to see it seemed quite stifled by the Doctor's dream,
and the subject for the present was dropped, with a remark from Jim,
"that he was not sure but that this accounted for the white people
digging up all the Indians' graves on the frontiers, and that their
bones were brought here and sold." The Catacombs were thus left for
Daniel and myself to stroll through at our leisure, and the Indians
were contented with the sketch I made, which, with Daniel's account,
put them in possession of the principal features of that extraordinary
and truly shocking place.
As their visit to the _Catacombs_ and the _Morgue_ was abandoned, we
resolved to drive through the Champs Elysées and visit the woods of
Boulogne, the favourite drive of the Parisians, and probably the most
beautiful in the world. We had been solicited by M. Franconi, of the
_Hippodrome_, to enter into an arrangement with him to have the Indians
unite in his entertainments three days in the week, where their skill
in riding and archery could be seen to great advantage, and for which
he would be willing to offer liberal terms. He had invited us to bring
the Indians down, at all events, to see the place; and we agreed to
make the visit to M. Franconi on our way to the woods of Boulogne.
The view was a private one, known only to a few of his friends, who
were present, and his own operatic _troupe_. We were very civilly and
politely received; and, all walking to the middle of his grand area,
he proposed to make us the offer, on condition that the Indians were
good riders, which I had already assured him was the case, and which
seemed rather difficult for him to believe, as they had so little of
civilization about them. As the best proof, however, he proposed to
bring out a horse, and let one of them try and show what he could do.
This we agreed to at once; and, having told the Indians before we
started that we should make no arrangement for them there unless they
were pleased with it and preferred it, they had decided, on entering
the grounds, that the exercises would be too desperate and fatiguing
to them and destructive to their clothes, and therefore not to engage
with him. However, the horse was led into the area and placed upon the
track for their chariot-races, which is nearly a quarter of a mile in
circumference; and, the question being put, "Who will ride?" it was
soon agreed that Jim should try it first. "Wal, me try em," said Jim;
"me no ride good, but me try em little." He was already prepared, with
his shield and quiver upon his back and his long and shining lance in
his hand. The horse was held; though, with all its training, it was
some time, with its two or three grooms about it, before they could get
the frightened creature to stand steady enough for Jim to mount. In
the first effort which they thought he was making to get on, they were
surprised to find that he was ungirthing the saddle, which he flung
upon the ground, and, throwing his buffalo robe across the animal's
back and himself astride, the horse dashed off at his highest speed.
Jim saw that the animal was used to the track, and, the course being
clear, he leaned forward and brandished his lance, and, every time
he came round and passed us, sounded a charge in the shrill notes
of the war-whoop. The riding was pleasing and surprised M. Franconi
exceedingly, and when he thought it was about time to stop he gave his
signal for Jim to pull up, but, seeing no slack to the animal's pace,
and Jim still brandishing his weapons in the air and sounding the
war-whoop as he passed, he became all at once alarmed for the health
of his horse. The Indians at this time were all in a roar of laughter,
and the old gentleman was placing himself and his men upon the track as
Jim came round, with uplifted arms, to try to stop the animal's speed,
just finding at that time that Jim had rode in the true prairie style,
without using the bridle, and which, by his neglect of it, had got out
of his reach, when he would have used it to pull up with. Jim still
dashed by them, brandishing his lance as they came in his way: when
they retreated and ran to head him in another place, he there passed
them also, and passed them and menaced them again and again as he came
around. The alarm of the poor old gentleman for the life of his horse
became very conspicuous, and, with additional efforts with his men,
and a little pulling up by Jim, who had at length found the rein, the
poor affrighted and half-dead animal was stopped, and Jim, leaping off,
walked to the middle of the area, where we were in a group, laughing to
the greatest excess at the fun. The poor horse was near done over, and
led away by the grooms, M. Franconi came and merely bade us good-by,
and was exceedingly obliged to us. Whether the poor animal died or not
we never heard, but Jim was laid up for several days. On asking him why
he ran the horse so hard, he said it was the horse's fault, that "it
ran away with him the moment he was on its back--that the creature was
frightened nearly to death; and he thought, if it preferred running,
he resolved to give it running enough." The Doctor told him he acted
imprudently in getting on, which had caused all the trouble. "In what
way?" inquired Jim. "Why, by letting the animal see that ugly face of
yours; if you had hid it till you were on, there would have been no
trouble."
We were all obliged to laugh at the Doctor's wit; and having taken
leave of the polite old gentleman, we were seated in our carriages
again for a drive through the woods of Boulogne.
In the midst of these wild and truly beautiful grounds the Indians
and all got down for a stroll. The native wildness of the forests and
jungle seemed in a moment to inspire them with their wild feelings,
which had, many of them, long slumbered whilst mingling amidst the
crowds of civilization, and away they leapt and bounded among the
trees in their wild and wonted amusements. Their shrill yells and the
war-whoop were soon lost in the distant thickets which they penetrated,
and an hour at least elapsed before they could all be gathered
together and prepared to return. Their frightful yells had started
up all the rabbits that were unburrowed in the forests; and whilst
hundreds were bounding about, and many taking to the open fields for
escape, they encompassed one, and with their united screams had scared
it to death. This they assured us was the case, as they brought it in
by the legs, without the mark of any weapon upon it.
Few scenes in Paris, if any, had pleased them more than this, and in
their subsequent drives they repeatedly paid their visits to the "woods
of Boulogne."
On their return home poor Jim lay down, complaining very much of
lameness from his hard ride on Franconi's horse, which he knew would
prevent him from dancing for some days, as he was getting very stiff,
and afraid he would not be well enough to go and see the "Industrious
Fleas" (as they were called), where he and the Doctor and Jeffrey had
arranged to go with Daniel and several young American acquaintance,
who had decided it to be one of the choicest little sights then to be
seen in Paris, and which from all accounts is an exhibition of female
nudities in living groups, ringing all the changes on attitude and
action for the amusement of the lookers-on. There was a great deal of
amusing conversation about this very popular exhibition, but in this
poor Jim and the Doctor reluctantly submitted to disappointment when
Mr. Melody very properly objected to their going to see it.
Jim had laid himself on his back at this time, and, not feeling in the
best of humour, began in a tirade of abuse of the Frenchwomen, of whom
he and the Doctor had seen more perhaps on the previous evening in the
_Jardin Mabille_ in the Champs Elysées, and the _masquerade_ in the
_Grand Opera House_, than they had seen since they entered Paris.
Their enterprise on that evening had taken place after their exhibition
had closed, when Jim and the Doctor started with Jeffrey and Daniel and
two or three friends who were pledged to take care of them. It was on
Sunday evening, when the greatest crowds attend these places, and I
have no other account of what they did and what they saw than that they
gave me on their return home. They had first gone to the splendid _bal_
in the popular garden, where they were told that the thousand elegant
women they saw there dancing were all bad women, and that nearly all
of them came to those places alone, as they had nothing to pay, but
were all let in free, so as to make the men come who had to pay. This
idea had tickled Jim and the Doctor very much, for, although they were
from the wilderness, they could look a good way into a thing which was
perfectly clear. It was a splendid sight for them, and, after strolling
about a while, and seeing all that could be seen, they had turned
their attention to the "_Bal Masqué_" in the _Grand Opera_. Here they
had been overwhelmed with the splendour of the scene, and astonished
at its novelty, and the modes of the women who, Jim said, "were all
ashamed to show their faces," and whose strange manoeuvres had added
a vast deal to the fund of his objections to Frenchwomen, and which
he said had constantly been accumulating ever since he first saw so
many of them kissing the ends of little dogs' noses, and pretty little
children on their foreheads. His mind here ran upon kissing, of which
he had seen some the night before, and which he had often observed in
the exhibition rooms and in the streets. He had laughed, he said, to
see Frenchmen kiss each other on both cheeks; and he had observed that,
when gentlemen kiss ladies, they kiss them on the forehead: he was
not quite sure that they would do so in the dark, however. "In London
always kiss em on the mouth; ladies kiss em Indians heap, and hug em
too: in France ladies no kiss em--no like em--no good."
In speaking of the _bal_ in the gardens, "he didn't see anything so
very bad in that, but as for the masquerade, he looked upon it as a
very immoral thing that so many thousands of ladies should come there
and be ashamed to show their faces, and have the privilege of picking
out just such men as they liked to go with them, and then take hold
of their arms, as he said he repeatedly saw them, and lead them out."
Amongst the Indians, he said, they had a custom much like that to be
sure, but it was only given once a-year, and it was then only for the
young married men to lend their wives to the old ones: this was only
one night in the year, and it was a mark of respect that the young
married men were willing to pay to the old warriors and chiefs, and
the young married women were willing to agree to it because it pleased
their husbands. On those occasions, he said, "none are admitted into
the ring but old married men, and then the young married woman goes
around and touches on the left shoulder the one who she wishes to
follow her into the bushes, and she does it without being ashamed and
obliged to cover her face."
The Doctor's prejudices against the Frenchwomen were nothing near as
violent as those of Jim, and yet he said it made him feel very curious
when he saw some thousands with their faces all hidden: he said it
must be true that they had some object that was bad, or they wouldn't
be ashamed and hide their faces. Mr. Melody told Jim and the Doctor,
however, that he didn't consider there was so very much harm in it, for
these very women had the handiest way in the world to get rid of all
their sins. If they happened accidentally or otherwise during the week
to do anything that was decidedly naughty or wicked, they went into
their churches very early in the morning, where the priest was in a
little box with his ear to the window, where the woman kneeled down and
told in his ear all the sins she had committed during the week, and she
then went away quite happy that, having confessed them to him, he would
be sure to have them all forgiven by the Great Spirit. They had a great
laugh at this, and all thought that Mr. Melody was quizzing them, until
_Bobasheela_ and _Daniel_ both told them it was all true, and if they
liked to go with them any morning they would take them into any of the
French churches or chapels, where they could see it; and would venture
that they would see many of the same women confessing their sins whom
they had seen at the _bal_ and the masquerade, and in this way they
could tell who had behaved the worst, for the most guilty of them
would be sure to be there first. The Doctor seemed evidently to look
upon this still with suspicion and doubt; and as the splendid church
of _St. Roch_ was nearly opposite to their rooms, and only across the
street, it was proposed that the Doctor and Jim should accompany Daniel
and their friend _Bobasheela_ immediately there, where in five minutes
they could see more or less women at confession, and at the same time a
fine sight, one of the most splendid churches in Paris, and the place
where the Queen goes on every Sunday to worship. This so excited the
party, that they chiefly all arose and walked across the street to
take a view of the church and the Frenchwomen confessing their sins
into the ears of the priests. They happened to have a fair opportunity
of seeing several upon their knees at confession; and the old Doctor
had been curious to advance up so near to one, that he said he saw the
priest's eyes shining through between the little slats, and then he was
convinced, and not before. He said that still it didn't seem right to
him, unless the Great Spirit had put those men there for that purpose.
He thought it a very nice place for a young girl to tell the priest
where she would meet him, and he had a very good chance to see whether
she was pretty or not. Jim had by this time studied out an idea or
two, and said, he thought that this way of confessing sins aided the
_bals_ and _masquerades_ and the _industrious fleas_ very much; and
he believed that these were the principal causes of the great number
of the poor little deserted and parentless babes they had seen in the
hospital where they had been.
The hour for the exhibition arriving, the conversation about Paris
morals and religion was broken suddenly off, and perhaps at a good
time. There were great crowds now daily attending their amusements,
and generally applauding enthusiastically, and making the Indians
occasional presents. On this occasion the Doctor had made a tremendous
boast in the part he was taking in the eagle-dance, for the spirit of
which the audience, and particularly the ladies, gave him a great deal
of applause, so much so that at the end of the dance his vanity called
him out in an off-hand speech about the beauty of the city, &c., and,
it being less energetic than the boasts he had just been strutting
out, failed to draw forth the applause he was so confidently depending
on. He tried sentence after sentence, and, stopping to listen, all
were silent. This perplexed and disappointed the Doctor very much, and
still he went on, and at length stopped and sat down, admired, but not
applauded. His friend Jim was laughing at him as he took his seat, and
telling him that if he had barked like a little dog the ladies would
have been sure to applaud. To this the Doctor said, "You had better try
yourself:" upon which the daring Jim, who professed never to refuse
any challenge, sprang upon his feet, and, advancing to the edge of
the platform, stood braced out with his brows knitting, and his eyes
"in a frenzy rolling," for full two minutes before he began. He then
thrust his lance forward in his right hand as far as he could dart it
over the heads of the audience, and, coming back to his balance again,
he commenced. Of his speech no report was made, but it was short and
confined to three or four brief sentences, at the end of which he
looked around with the most doleful expression to catch the applause,
but there was none. The old Doctor was watching him close, and telling
him he had better sit down.
In this dilemma he was still standing after all his good ideas had been
spent, and each instant, as he continued to stand, making his case
worse, he turned upon his heel, and as he was turning around he added,
in an irritated manner, this amusing sentence: "You had better go and
see the industrious fleas, and then you will applaud!" This made a
great laugh amongst the Indians, but of course it was not translated to
the audience. He then took his seat, looking exceedingly sober, and,
with his pipe, was soon almost lost sight of in the columns of smoke
that were rising around him.
About this time a very friendly invitation had been given them and
us by Colonel Thorn, an American gentleman of great wealth residing
in Paris, and all were anticipating much pleasure on the occasion
when we were to dine at his house; but, unluckily for the happiness
and enjoyment of the whole party, on the morning of the day of our
invitation the wife of the Little Wolf suddenly and unexpectedly died.
Our engagement to dine was of course broken, and our exhibition and
amusements for some days delayed. This sad occurrence threw the party
into great distress, but they met the kindness of many sympathising
friends, who administered in many ways to their comfort, and joined
in attending the poor woman's remains to the grave. Her disease was
the consumption of the lungs, and her decline had been rapid, though
her death at that time was unexpected. When it was discovered that
her symptoms were alarming, a Catholic priest was called in, and she
received the baptism a few moments before she breathed her last.
Through the kindness of the excellent Curé of the _Madeleine church_,
her remains were taken into that splendid temple, and the funeral rites
performed over them according to the rules of that church, in the
presence of some hundreds who were led there by sympathy and curiosity,
and from thence her body was taken to the cemetery of Montmartre, and
interred. The poor heartbroken noble fellow, the Little Wolf, shed the
tears of bitterest sorrow to see her, from necessity, laid amongst the
rows of the dead in a foreign land; and on every day that he afterwards
spent in Paris he ordered a cab to take him to the grave, that he
could cry over it, and talk to the departed spirit of his wife, as he
was leaving some little offering he had brought with him. This was
the second time we had seen him in grief; and we, who had been by him
in all his misfortunes, admired the deep affection he showed for his
little boy, and now for its mother, and at the same time the manly
fortitude with which he met the fate that had been decreed to him.
On this sad occasion their good friend M. Vattemare showed his kind
sympathy for them, and took upon himself the whole arrangements of her
funeral, and did all that was in his power to console and soothe the
brokenhearted husband in the time of his affliction. He also proposed
to have a suitable and appropriate monument erected over her grave, and
for its accomplishment procured a considerable sum by subscription,
with which, I presume, the monument has, ere this, been erected over
her remains. The Little Wolf insisted on it that the exhibition should
proceed, as the daily expenses were so very great, and in a few days,
to give it all the interest it could have, resumed his part in the
dance that he had taken before his misfortune.
Owing to letters received about this time from their tribe, and the
misfortune that had happened, the Indians were now all getting anxious
to start for their own country, and, holding a council on the subject,
called Mr. Melody in, and informed him that they had resolved to sleep
but six nights more in Paris, and that they should expect him to be
ready to start with them after that time. This was a short notice for
us, but was according to Indian modes, and there was no way but to
conform to it. Mr. Melody had pledged his word to the Government to
take care of these people, and to return to their country with them
whenever the chiefs should desire it; and I was bound, from my deep
interest for them, to assent to whatever regulations Mr. Melody and the
chiefs should adopt as the best.
This notice came at a time when it was unexpected by me, and I think
not anticipated by Mr. Melody, and was therefore unfortunate for
us, and probably somewhat, though less so, to them. The very heavy
outlays had all been made for their exhibitions, and their audiences
were daily increasing. If their exhibitions could have been continued
a month or two longer, the avails would have been considerable, and
of great service to Mr. Melody, who had the heavy responsibility on
his shoulders of taking these people back to their country at his own
expense.
The closing of their amusements, and positive time of their departure,
was now announced, and immense crowds came in within the remaining few
days to get the last possible glance at the faces and the curious modes
of "_les Peaux Rouges_." The poor fellows enjoyed their interviews with
the public to the last, and also their roast beef and beef-steaks and
_chickabobboo_.
They had much to say in the few days that were left; they quitted their
daily drives and sight-seeing, and devoted their time to the pipe and
conversation, in a sort of recapitulation of what they had seen and
said and done on this side of the Atlantic, and of friends and affairs
in their own humble villages, where their thoughts were now roaming.
They were counting their cash also, packing away all their things they
were to carry, and looking out for the little presents they wished to
purchase, to take home to their friends. In all of these occupations
they had the constant attention of their old and faithful friends
_Bobasheela_ and _Daniel_.
In one of their conversations after the funeral of the poor woman, the
Doctor and Jim had much to say of the honours paid to her remains by
the French people, which the whole party would recollect as long as
they lived. They were pleased with and astonished at the beauty and
magnificence of the Madeleine church, and wished to get some account
of it to carry home to show their people, and thus, besides several
engravings of it, Jim's book carried the following entry by my own
hand:--"_La Madeleine_, the most splendid temple of worship in Paris,
or perhaps in the world; surrounded with 52 Corinthian columns, 60 feet
high; south pediment, a bas-relief, representing the Day of Judgment,
with the figure of Magdalene at the feet of Christ."
As the party were to embark at Havre on their homeward voyage, it
became a question how they were to get their numerous trunks and boxes
they had left in London, filled with clothes and other articles that
they had purchased or received as presents while in England. To relieve
them of this difficulty, their friend _Bobasheela_ volunteered to go
to London and take all their boxes to Liverpool, and ship them to New
York, and was soon on the way. This was a noble and kind act on the
part of _Bobasheela_, and it was done with despatch, and he was back in
Paris just in time to accompany his friends to Havre. M. Vattemare was
in readiness to attend them also; and all their transactions in Paris
being brought to a close, and they having taken leave of _Chippehola_
and other friends, started for their native land, with my highest
admiration for the sober and respectful manner in which they had
conducted themselves while under my direction, and with my most ardent
desire for their future success and happiness.[41]
[41] I learned from M. Vattemare, on his return, that the party
were treated with great friendship by an American gentleman
in Havre, Mr. Winslow, who invited them to dine at his house,
and bestowed on them liberal presents. They embraced their old
friend Bobasheela in their arms on the deck of their vessel,
and he sailed for London as their vessel was under weigh for
America. The rest of their history is for other historians,
and my narrative will continue a little further on events in
Paris.
Here was about the period at which my dear wife and I had contemplated
our return, with our little children, to our native land, where we
should have returned in the enjoyment of all the happiness we had
anticipated or could have wished, but for the misfortune that had
been for some time awaiting me, but not until then duly appreciated,
in my own house. Those of my readers who were not familiar with the
completeness of my domestic happiness prior to this period of my life,
will scarcely know how to sympathize with me, or perhaps to excuse me
for adverting to it here. My dear Clara, whom I have introduced to the
reader before, who shared with me many of the toils and pleasures of
the prairies of the "Far West," and was now meeting with me the mutual
enjoyments of the refined and splendid world, had, a few weeks before,
in company with a couple of English ladies of her acquaintance, paid
a visit to the Mint, from which they all returned indisposed, having
taken severe colds by a sudden change from the heated rooms into the
chilly atmosphere of the streets. With my dear wife, who was obliged
to retire to her room, the disease was discovered in a few days to
have attached to her lungs; and although for several weeks she had been
suffering very much, and confined to her bed, no serious apprehensions
were entertained until about the time that the Indians left, when my
whole thoughts and attentions were turned to her, but to discover in a
few days that our plans for further mutual happiness in this world were
at an end--that her days were nearly numbered, and that her four dear
little children were to be committed to my sole care.
To those who have felt pangs like mine which followed, I need but
merely mention them; and to those who have not felt them, it would be
in vain to describe. Her feeble form wasted away; and in her dying
moments, with a Christian's hope, she was in the midst of happiness,
blessing her dear little children as she committed them to my care and
protection.
The following obituary notice, penned by a lady of her intimate
acquaintance, the reader will excuse me for inserting here, as it is
the only record of her, except those engraven on the hearts of those
who knew and loved her:--
DIED--On the 28th inst., No. 11 _bis_, Avenue Lord Byron, Paris,
Mrs. Clara B. Catlin, the wife of the eminent traveller so
distinguished for his researches into Indian history and
antiquities of America, and so universally known and respected
in Europe and his native country, Geo. Catlin, Esq., from the
United States of America. The devoted friends who watched the
last moments of this most amiable, interesting woman with intense
anxiety, still clung to a faint hope, deceived by a moral energy
never surpassed, and the most unruffled serenity of temper, that
(had it been the will of Heaven) they might have been permitted to
rescue a life so precious--but, alas! this gentle, affectionate,
intellectual being was destined never more to revisit the land
of her birth, and all that was earthly of so much worth and
loveliness has passed away, whilst the immortal spirit has
ascended to its kindred skies!
"None knew her, but to love her;
None named her, but to praise."
_Galignani's Messenger, 30th July, 1845._
The reader can imagine something of the gloom that was cast over my
house and little family, thus suddenly closed for ever from the smiles
and cheer of an affectionate wife and a devoted mother, whose remains
were sent back to her native land--not to greet and bring joy to her
kindred and anxious friends, from whom she had been five years absent,
but to afford them the last glance at her loved features, then to take
their place amongst the ranks of the peaceful dead.