VOYAGE UP FOX RIVER.
It had been arranged that Judge Doty should accompany us in our boat as
far as the Butte des Morts, at which place his attendant would be
waiting with horses to convey him to Mineral Point, where he was to hold
court.
It was a bright and beautiful morning when we left his pleasant home, to
commence our passage up the Fox River Captain Harney was proposing to
remain a few days longer at "the Bay," but he called to escort us to the
boat and instal us in all its comforts.
As he helped me along over the ploughed ground and other inequalities in
our way to the river-bank, where the boat lay, he told me how
impatiently Mrs. Twiggs, the wife of the commanding officer, who since
the past spring had been the only white lady at Fort Winnebago, was now
expecting a companion and friend. We had met in New York, shortly after
her marriage, and were, therefore, not quite unacquainted. I, for my
part, felt sure that when there were two of our sex--when my piano was
safely there--when the Post Library which we had purchased should be
unpacked--when all should be fairly arranged and settled, we should be,
although far away in the wilderness, the happiest little circle
imaginable. All my anticipations were of the most sanguine and cheerful
character.
It was a moderate-sized Mackinac boat, with a crew of soldiers, and our
own three voyageurs in addition, that lay waiting for us--a dark-looking
structure of some thirty feet in length. Placed in the centre was a
frame-work of slight posts, supporting a roof of canvas, with curtains
of the same, which might be let down at the sides and ends, after the
manner of a country stage-coach, or rolled up to admit the light and
air.
In the midst of this little cabin or saloon was placed the box
containing my piano, and on it a mattress, which was to furnish us a
divan through the day and a place of repose at night, should the weather
at any time prove too wet or unpleasant for encamping. The boxes of
silver, with which my husband was to pay the annuities due his red
children, by treaty-stipulation, were stowed next. Our mess-basket was
in a convenient vicinity, and we had purchased a couple of large square
covered baskets of the Waubanakees, or New York Indians, to hold our
various necessary articles of outward apparel and bedding, and at the
same time to answer as very convenient little work or dinner-tables.
As a true daughter of New England, it is to be taken for granted I had
not forgotten to supply myself with knitting-work and embroidery. Books
and pencils were a matter of course.
The greater part of our furniture, together with the various articles
for housekeeping with which we had supplied ourselves in New York and
Detroit, were to follow in another boat, under the charge of people
whose business it professed to be to take cargoes safely up the rapids
and on to Fort Winnebago. This was an enterprise requiring some three
weeks of time and a great amount of labor, so that the owners of the
goods transported might think themselves happy to receive them at last,
however wet, broken, and dilapidated their condition might be. It was
for this reason that we took our choicest possessions with us, even at
the risk of being a little crowded.
Until now I had never seen a gentleman attired in a colored shirt, a
spotless white collar and bosom being one of those "notions" that
"Boston," and consequently New England "folks," entertained of the
becoming in a gentleman's toilette. Mrs. Cass had laughingly forewarned
me that not only calico shirts but patch-work pillow-cases were an
indispensable part of a travelling equipment; and, thanks to the taste
and skill of some tidy little Frenchwoman, I found our divan-pillows all
accommodated in the brightest and most variegated garb.
The Judge and my husband were gay with the deepest of blue and pink.
Each was prepared, besides, with a bright red cap (a _bonnet rouge_, or
_tuque_, as the voyageurs call it), which, out of respect for the lady,
was to be donned only when a hearty dinner, a dull book, or the want of
exercise made an afternoon nap indispensable.
The Judge was an admirable travelling companion. He had lived many years
in the country, had been with General Cass on his expedition to the
head-waters of the Mississippi, and had a vast fund of anecdote
regarding early times, customs, and inhabitants.
Some instances of the mode of administering justice in those days, I
happen to recall.
There was an old Frenchman at the Bay, named Réaume, excessively
ignorant and grasping, although otherwise tolerably good-natured. This
man was appointed justice of the peace. Two men once appeared before
him, the one as plaintiff, the other as defendant. The justice listened
patiently to the complaint of the one and the defence of the other;
then rising, with dignity, he pronounced his decision:
"You are both wrong. You, Bois-vert," to the plaintiff, "you bring me
one load of hay; and you, Crély," to the defendant, "you bring me one
load of wood; and now the matter is settled." It does not appear that
any exceptions were taken to this verdict.
This anecdote led to another, the scene of which was Prairie du Chien,
on the Mississippi.
There was a Frenchman, a justice of the peace, who was universally known
by the name of "Old Boilvin." His office was just without the walls of
the fort, and it was much the fashion among the officers to lounge in
there of a morning, to find sport for an idle hour, and to take a glass
of brandy-and-water with the old gentleman, which he called "taking a
little _quelque-chose."_
A soldier, named Fry, had been accused of stealing and killing a calf
belonging to M. Rolette, and the constable, a bricklayer of the name of
Bell, had been dispatched to arrest the culprit and bring him to trial.
While the gentlemen were making their customary morning visit to the
justice, a noise was heard in the entry, and a knock at the door.
"Come in," cried Old Boilvin, rising and walking toward the door.
_Bell_,--Here, sir, I have brought Fry to you, as you ordered.
_Justice_--Fry, you great rascal! What for you kill M. Rolette's calf?
_Fry_,--I did not kill M. Rolette's calf.
_Justice_ (shaking his fist).--You lie, you great ---- rascal! Bell,
take him to jail. Come, gentlemen, come, _let us take a leetle
quelque-chose_.
* * * * *
The Canadian boatmen always sing while rowing or paddling, and nothing
encourages them so much as to hear the "bourgeois"[5] take the lead in
the music. If the passengers, more especially those of the fair sex,
join in the refrain, the compliment is all the greater.
Their songs are of a light, cheerful character, generally embodying some
little satire or witticism, calculated to produce a spirited, sometimes
an uproarious, chorus.
The song and refrain are carried on somewhat in the following style:
BOURGEOIS.--Par-derrière chez ma tante,
Par-derrière chez ma tante.
CHORUS.--Par-derrière chez ma tante,
Par-derrière chez ma tante.
BOURGEOIS.--Il y a un coq qui chante,
Des pommes, des poires, des raves, des choux,
Des figues nouvelles, des raisins doux.
CHORUS.--Des pommes, des poires, des raves, des choux,
Des figues nouvelles, des raisins doux.
BOURGEOIS.--Il y a un coq qui chante,
Il y a un coq qui chante.
CHORUS.--Il y a un coq qui chante, etc.
BOURGEOIS.--Demande une femme à prendre,
Des pommes, des poires, des raves, des choux, etc.
CHORUS.--Des pommes, dos poires, etc.
BOURGEOIS.--Demande une femme à prendre,
Demande une femme à, etc.
And thus it continues until the advice is given successively,
Ne prenez pas une noire,
Car elles aiment trop à boire,
Ne prenez pas une rousse,
Car elles sont trop jalouses.
And by the time all the different qualifications are rehearsed and
objected to, lengthened out by the interminable repetition of the
chorus, the shout of the bourgeois is heard--
"Whoop la! à terre, à terre--pour la pipe!"
It is an invariable custom for the voyageurs to stop every five or six
miles to rest and smoke, so that it was formerly the way of measuring
distances--"so many pipes," instead of "so many miles."
The Canadian melodies are sometimes very beautiful, and a more
exhilarating mode of travel can hardly be imagined than a voyage over
these waters, amid all the wild magnificence of nature, with the
measured strokes of the oar keeping time to the strains of "_Le Rosier
Blanc_," "En roulant ma Boule_," or "_Lève ton pied, ma jolie Bergère."_
The climax of fun seemed to be in a comic piece, which, however oft
repeated, appeared never to grow stale. It was somewhat after this
fashion:
BOURGEOIS.--Michaud est monté dans un prunier,
Pour treiller des prunes.
La branche a cassé--
CHORUS.--Michaud a tombé?
BOURGEOIS.--Ou est-ce qu'il est?
CHORUS.--Il est en bas.
BOURGEOIS.--Oh! reveille, reveille, reveille,
Oh! reveille, Michaud est en haut![6]
It was always a point of etiquette to look astonished at the luck of
Michaud in remaining in the tree, spite of the breaking of the branch,
and the joke had to be repeated through all the varieties of
fruit-trees that Michaud might be supposed able to climb.
By evening of the first day we arrived at _the Kakalin_, where another
branch of the Grignon family resided. We were very pleasantly
entertained, although, in my anxiety to begin my forest life, I would
fain have had the tent pitched on the bank of the river, and have laid
aside, at once, the indulgences of civilization. This, however, would
have been a slight, perhaps an affront; so we did much better, and
partook of the good cheer that was offered us in the shape of hot
venison steaks and crêpes, and that excellent cup of coffee which none
can prepare like a Frenchwoman, and which is so refreshing after a day
in the open air.
The Kakalin is a rapid of the Fox River, sufficiently important to make
the portage of the heavy lading of a boat necessary; the boat itself
being poled or dragged up with cords against the current. It is one of a
series of rapids and _chûtes_, or falls, which occur between this point
and Lake Winnebago, twenty miles above.
The next morning, after breakfast, we took leave of our hosts, and
prepared to pursue our journey. The bourgeois, from an early hour, had
been occupied in superintending his men in getting the boat and its
loading over the Kakalin. As the late rains had made the paths through
the woods and along the banks of the river somewhat muddy and
uncomfortable for walking, I was put into an ox-cart, to be jolted over
the unequal road; saluting impartially all the stumps and stones that
lay in our way, the only means of avoiding which seemed to be when the
little, thick-headed Frenchman, our conductor, bethought him of suddenly
guiding his cattle into a projecting tree or thorn-bush, to the great
detriment not only of my straw bonnet, but of my very eyes.
But we got through at last, and, arriving at the head of the rapids, I
found the boat lying there, all in readiness for our re-embarking.
Our Menomonee guide, _Wish-tay-yun_, a fine, stalwart Indian, with an
open, good-humored, one might almost say _roguish_ countenance, came
forward to be presented to me.
"_Bon-jour, bon-jour, maman_," was his laughing salutation. Again I was
surprised, not as before at the French, for to that I had become
accustomed, but at the respectable title he was pleased to bestow upon
me.
"Yes," said my husband, "you must make up your mind to receive a very
numerous and well-grown family, consisting of all the Winnebagoes,
Pottowattamies, Chippewas, and Ottawas, together with such Sioux, Sacs
and Foxes, and Iowas, as have any point to gain in applying to me. By
the first-named tribe in virtue of my office, and by the others as a
matter of courtesy, I am always addressed as '_father_'--you, of course,
will be their '_mother_.'"
Wish-tay-yun and I were soon good friends, my husband interpreting to me
the Chippewa language in which he spoke. We were impatient to be off,
the morning being already far advanced, and, all things being in
readiness, the word was given:
"_Pousse au large, mes gens!_" (Push out, my men).
At this moment a boat was seen leaving the opposite bank of the river
and making towards us. It contained white men, and they showed by signs
that they wished to detain us until they came up. They drew near, and we
found them to be Mr. Marsh, a missionary among the Waubanakees, or the
New York Indians, lately brought into this country, and the Rev. Eleazar
Williams,[7] who was at that time living among his red brethren on the
right bank of the Fox River.
To persons so situated, even more emphatically than to those of the
settlements, the arrival of visitors from the "east countrie" was a
godsend indeed. We had to give all the news of various kinds that we had
brought--political, ecclesiastical, and social--as well as a tolerably
detailed account of what we proposed to do, or rather what we hoped to
be able to do, among our native children at the Portage.
I was obliged, for my part, to confess that, being almost entirely a
stranger to the Indian character and habits, I was going among them with
no settled plans of any kind--general good-will, and a hope of making
them my friends, being the only principles I could lay claim to at
present. I must leave it for time and a better acquaintance to show me
in what way the principle could be carried out for their greatest good.
Mr. Williams was a dark-complexioned, good-looking man. Having always
heard him spoken of, by his relations in Connecticut, as "our Indian
cousin," it never occurred to me to doubt his belonging to that race,
although I now think that if I had met him elsewhere I should have taken
him for a Spaniard or a Mexican. His complexion had decidedly more of
the olive than the copper hue, and his countenance was grave, almost
melancholy. He was very silent during this interview, asking few
questions, and offering no observations except in reply to some question
addressed to him.
It was a hard pull for the men up the rapids. Wish-tay-yun, whose clear,
sonorous voice was the bugle of the party, shouted and whooped--each one
answered with a chorus, and a still more vigorous effort. By-and-by the
boat would become firmly set between two huge stones--
"Whoop la! whoop! whoop!"
Another pull, and another, straining every nerve--in vain.
"She will not budge!"
"Men, overboard!" and instantly every rower is over the side and into
the water.
By pulling, pushing, and tugging, the boat is at length released from
her position, and the men walk along beside her, helping and guiding
her, until they reach a space of comparatively smooth water, when they
again take their seats and their oars.
It will be readily imagined that there were few songs this day, but very
frequent _pipes_, to refresh the poor fellows after such an arduous
service.
It was altogether a new spectacle to me. In fact, I had hardly ever
before been called upon to witness severe bodily exertion, and my
sympathies and sensibilities were, for this reason, the more enlisted on
the occasion. It seemed a sufficient hardship to have to labor in this
violent manner; but to walk in cold water up to their waists, and then
to sit down in their soaking garments without going near a fire! Poor
men! this was too much to be borne! What, then, was my consternation to
see my husband, who, shortly after our noon-tide meal, had surprised me
by making his appearance in a pair of duck trowsers and light jacket, at
the first cry of "Fast, again!" spring over into the water with the men,
and "bear a hand" throughout the remainder of the long stretch!
When he returned on board, it was to take the oar of a poor,
delicate-looking boy, one of the company of soldiers, who from the first
had suffered with bleeding at the nose on every unusual exertion. I was
not surprised, on inquiring, to find that this lad was a recruit just
entered the service. He passed by the name of Gridley, but that was
undoubtedly an assumed name. He had the appearance of having been
delicately nurtured, and had probably enlisted without at all
appreciating the hardships and discomforts of a soldier's life. This is
evident from the dissatisfaction he always continued to feel, until at
length he deserted from his post. This was some months subsequent to the
time of which I am writing. He was once retaken, and kept for a time in
confinement, but immediately on his release deserted again, and his
remains were found the following spring, not many miles from the fort.
He had died, either of cold or starvation. This is a sad interlude--we
will return to our boating.
With all our tugging and toiling, we had accomplished but thirteen miles
since leaving the Kakalin, and it was already late when we arrived in
view of the "Grande Chûte," near which we were to encamp.
We had passed the "Little Chûte" (the spot where the town of Appleton
now stands) without any further observation than that it required a vast
deal of extra exertion to buffet with the rushing stream and come off,
as we did, victorious.
The brilliant light of the setting sun was resting on the high wooded
banks through which broke the beautiful, foaming, dashing waters of the
Chûte. The boat was speedily turned towards a little headland projecting
from the left bank, which had the advantage of a long strip of level
ground, sufficiently spacious to afford a good encamping ground. I
jumped ashore before the boat was fairly pulled up by the men, and with
the Judge's help made my way as rapidly as possible to a point lower
down the river, from which, he said, the best view of the Chûte could be
obtained. I was anxious to make a sketch before the daylight quite faded
away.
The left bank of the river was to the west, and over a portion less
elevated than the rest the sun's parting rays fell upon the boat, the
men with their red caps and belts, and the two tents already pitched.
The smoke now beginning to ascend from the evening fires, the high
wooded bank beyond, up which the steep portage path could just be
discerned, and, more remote still, the long stretch of waterfall now
darkening in the shadow of the overhanging forests, formed a lovely
landscape, to which the pencil of an artist could alone do justice.
This was my first encampment, and I was quite enchanted with the novelty
of everything about me.
The fires had been made of small saplings and underbrush, hastily
collected, the mildness of the weather rendering anything beyond what
sufficed for the purposes of cooking and drying the men's clothes,
superfluous. The soldiers' tent was pitched at some distance from our
own, but not too far for us to hear distinctly their laughter and
apparent enjoyment after the fatigues of the day.
Under the careful superintendence of Corporal Kilgour, however, their
hilarity never passed the bounds of respectful propriety, and, by the
time we had eaten our suppers, cooked in the open air with the simple
apparatus of a tea-kettle and frying-pan, we were, one and all, ready to
retire to our rest.
The first sound that saluted our ears in the early dawn of the following
morning, was the far-reaching call of the bourgeois:
"How! how! how!" uttered at the very top of his voice.
All start at that summons, and the men are soon turning out of their
tents, or rousing from their slumbers beside the fire, and preparing for
the duties of the day.
The fire is replenished, the kettles set on to boil, the mess-baskets
opened, and a portion of their contents brought forth to be made ready
for breakfast. One Frenchman spreads our mat within the tent, whence the
bedding has all been carefully removed and packed up for stowing in the
boat. The tin cups and plates are placed around on the new-fashioned
table-cloth. The heavy dews make it a little too damp for us to
breakfast in the open air; otherwise our preparations would be made
outside, upon the green grass. In an incredibly short time our smoking
coffee and broiled ham are placed before us, to which are added, from
time to time, slices of toast brought hot and fresh from the glowing
coals.
There is, after all, no breakfast like a breakfast in the woods, with a
well-trained Frenchman for master of ceremonies.
It was a hard day's work to which the men now applied themselves, that
of dragging the heavy boat up the Chûte. It had been thought safest to
leave the piano in its place on board, but the rest of the lading had to
be carried up the steep bank, and along its summit, a distance of some
hundreds of rods, to the smooth water beyond, where all the difficulties
of our navigation terminated.
The Judge kindly took charge of me while "the bourgeois" superintended
this important business, and with reading, sketching, and strolling
about, the morning glided away. Twelve o'clock came, and still the
preparations for starting were not yet completed.
In my rambles about to seek out some of the finest of the wild flowers
for a bouquet, before my husband's return, I came upon the camp-fire of
the soldiers. A tall, red-faced, light-haired young man in fatigue dress
was attending a kettle of soup, the savory steams of which were very
attractive.
Seeing that I was observing his occupation, he politely ladled out a
tin-cupful of the liquid and offered it to me.
I declined it, saying we should have our dinner immediately.
"They left me here to get their dinner," said he, apparently not
displeased to have some one to talk to; "and I thought I might as well
make some soup. Down on the German Flats, where I come from, they always
like soup."
"Ah! you are from the German Flats--then your name must be Bellinger or
Weber."
"No, it isn't--it's Krissman."
"Well, Krissman, how do you like the service?"
"Very well. I was only recruited last summer. I used to ride horse on
the _Canawl_, and, as I can blow a horn first-rate, I expect I will soon
be able to play on a bugle, and then, when I get to be musician, you
know, I shall have extra pay."
I did not know it, but I expressed due pleasure at the information, and
wishing Krissman all manner of success in his dreams of ambition, or
rather, I should say, of avarice, for the hopes of "extra pay" evidently
preponderated over those of fame, I returned to my own quarters.
My husband, with his French tastes, was inclined to be somewhat
disappointed when I told him of this little incident, and my refusal of
Krissman's soup; but we were soon gratified by seeing his tall, awkward
form bearing a kettle of the composition, which he set down before the
two gentlemen, by whom, to his infinite satisfaction, it was pronounced
excellent.
Everything being at length in readiness, the tents were struck and
carried around the Portage, and my husband, the Judge, and I followed at
our leisure.
The woods were brilliant with wild flowers, although it was so late in
the season that the glory of the summer was well-nigh past. But the
lupin, the moss-pink, and the yellow wallflower, with all the varieties
of the helianthus, the aster, and the solidago, spread their gay charms
around. The gentlemen gathered clusters of the bittersweet (celastrus
scandens) from the overhanging boughs to make a wreath for my hat, as we
trod the tangled pathway, which, like that of Christabel, was
"Now in glimmer and now in gloom,"
through the alternations of open glade and shady thicket. Soon, like the
same lovely heroine,
"We reached the place--right glad we were,"
and, without further delay, we were again on board our little boat and
skimming over the now placid waters.