RETURN TO FORT WINNEBAGO.
A great part of the command, with the cattle belonging to the officers
and soldiers, had, a day or two previous to the time of our departure,
set out on their march by land to Green Bay, _via_ Fort Winnebago.
Lieutenant Foster, under whose charge they were, had lingered behind
that he might have the pleasure of joining our party, and we, in turn,
had delayed in order to see the other members of our family safely on
board the Napoleon. But now, all things being ready, we set our faces
once more homeward.
We took with us a little _bound-girl,_ Josette, a bright, pretty child
of ten years of age, a daughter of Ouilmette, a Frenchman who had lived
here at the time of the Massacre, and of a Pottowattamie mother. She had
been at the St. Joseph's mission-school, under Mr. McCoy, and she was
now full of delight at the prospect of a journey all the way to the
Portage with Monsieur and Madame John.
We had also a negro boy, Harry, brought a year before from Kentucky, by
Mr. Kercheval. In the transfer at that time from a slave State to a free
one, Harry's position became somewhat changed--he could be no more than
an indentured servant. He was about to become a member of Dr. Wolcott's
household, and it was necessary for him to choose a guardian. All this
was explained to him on his being brought into the parlor, where the
family were assembled. My husband was then a young man, on a visit to
his home. "Now, Harry," it was said to him, "you must choose your
guardian;" and the natural expectation was that Harry would select the
person of his acquaintance of the greatest age and dignity. But, rolling
round his great eyes, and hanging his head on one side, he said,--
"I'll have Master John for my guardian."
From that day forward Harry felt as if he belonged, in a measure, to
Master John, and at the breaking-up of the family in Chicago he was,
naturally, transferred to our establishment.
There were three ladies of our travelling party--our mother, our sister
Mrs. Helm, and myself. To guard against the burning effect of the sun
and the prairie winds upon our faces, I had, during some of the last
days of my visit, prepared for each of us a mask of brown linen, with
the eyes, nose, and mouth fitted to our features; and, to enhance their
hideousness, I had worked eyebrows, eyelashes, and a circle around the
opening for the mouth, in black silk. Gathered in plaits under the chin,
and with strings to confine them above and below, they furnished a
complete protection against the sun and wind, though nothing can be
imagined more frightful than the appearance we presented when fully
equipped. It was who should be called the ugliest.
We left amid the good wishes and laughter of our few remaining
acquaintances. Our wagon had been provided with a pair of excellent
travelling horses, and, sister Margaret and myself being accommodated
with the best pacers the country could afford, we set off in high
spirits towards the Aux Plaines--our old friend, Billy Caldwell (the
Sau-ga-nash), with our brother Robert, and Gholson Kercheval,
accompanying us to that point of our journey.
There was no one at Barney Lawton's when we reached there, save a
Frenchman and a small number of Indians. My sister and I dismounted, and
entered the dwelling, the door of which stood open. Two Indians were
seated on the floor, smoking. They raised their eyes as we appeared, and
never shall I forget the expression of wonder and horror depicted on the
countenances of both. Their lips relaxed until the pipe of one fell upon
the floor. Their eyes seemed starting from their heads, and raising
their outspread hands, as if to wave us from them, they slowly
ejaculated, "_Manitou!"_ (a spirit.)
As we raised our masks, and, smiling, came forward to shake hands with
them, they sprang to their feet and fairly uttered a cry of delight at
the sight of our familiar faces.
"Bon-jour, bon-jour, Maman!" was their salutation, and they instantly
plunged out of doors to relate to their companions what had happened.
Our afternoon's ride was over a prairie stretching away to the northeast
No living creature was to be seen upon its broad expanse, but flying and
circling over our heads were innumerable flocks of curlews,
"Screaming their wild notes to the listening waste."
Their peculiar, shrill cry of "crack, crack, crack--rackety, rackety,
rackety," repeated from the throats of dozens, as they sometimes stooped
quite close to our ears, became at length almost unbearable. It seemed
as if they had lost their senses in the excitement of so unusual and
splendid a cortége in their hitherto desolate domain.
The accelerated pace of our horses, as we approached a beautiful,
wooded knoll, warned us that this was to be our place of repose for the
night. These animals seem to know by instinct a favorable
encamping-ground, and this was one of the most lovely imaginable.
The trees, which near the lake had, owing to the coldness and tardiness
of the season, presented the pale-yellow appearance of unfledged
goslings, were here bursting into full leaf. The ground around was
carpeted with flowers--we could not bear to have them crushed by the
felling of a tree and the pitching of our tent among them. The birds
sent forth their sweetest notes in the warm, lingering sunlight, and the
opening buds of the young hickory and sassafras filled the air with
perfume.
Nothing could be more perfect than our enjoyment of this sylvan and
beautiful retreat[45] after our ride in the glowing sun. The children
were in ecstasies. They delighted to find ways of making themselves
useful--to pile up the saddles--to break boughs for the fire--to fill
the little kettles with water for Petaille and Lecuyer, the Frenchmen,
who were preparing our supper.
Their amusement at the awkward movements of the horses after they were
spancelled knew no bounds. To our little nephew Edwin everything was
new, and Josette, who had already made more than one horseback journey
to St. Joseph, manifested all the pride of an old traveller in
explaining to him whatever was novel or unaccountable.
They were not the last to spring up at the call "how! how!" on the
following morning.
The fire was replenished, the preparations for breakfast commenced, and
the Frenchmen dispatched to bring up the horses in readiness for an
early start.
Harry and Josette played their parts, under our direction, in preparing
the simple meal, and we soon seated ourselves, each with cup and knife,
around the _table-mat._ The meal was over, but no men, no horses
appeared. When another half-hour had passed, my husband took Harry and
commenced exploring in search of the missing ones.
The day wore on, and first one and then another would make his
appearance to report progress. Petaille and Lecuyer at length brought
two of the horses, but the others could nowhere be found. In time, Mr.
Kinzie and Harry returned, wet to their knees by the dew upon the long
prairie-grass, but with no tidings. Again the men were dispatched after
having broken their fast, but returned unsuccessful as before.
The morning had been passed by our party at the encampment in
speculating upon the missing animals. Could they have been stolen by the
Indians? Hardly: these people seldom committed robberies in time of
peace--never upon our family, whom they regarded as their best friends.
The horses would doubtless be found. They had probably been carelessly
fastened the preceding evening, and had therefore been able to stray
farther than was their wont.
A council was held, at which it was decided to send Grignon back to
Chicago to get some fresh horses from Gholson Kercheval, and return as
speedily as possible. If on his return our encampment were deserted, he
might conclude we had found the horses and proceeded to Fox River, where
he would doubtless overtake us.
He had not been gone more than an hour before, slowly hopping out of a
point of woods to the north of us (a spot which each of the seekers
averred he had explored over and over again), and making directly for
the place where we were, appeared the vexatious animals. They came up
as demurely as if nothing had happened, and seemed rather surprised to
be received with a hearty scolding, instead of being patted and caressed
as usual.
It was the work of a very short half-hour to strike and pack the tent,
stow away the mats and kettles, saddle the horses, and mount for our
journey.
"Whoever pleases may take my place in the carriage," said our mother. "I
have travelled so many years on horseback, that I find any other mode of
conveyance too fatiguing."
So, spite of her sixty years, she mounted sister Margaret's pacer with
the activity of a girl of sixteen.
Lieutenant Foster had left us early in the morning, feeling it necessary
to rejoin his command, and now, having seen us ready to set off, with a
serene sky above us, and all things "right and tight" for the journey,
our friend the Sau-ga-nash took leave of us, and retraced his steps
towards Chicago.
We pursued our way through a lovely country of alternate glade and
forest, until we reached the Fox River. The current ran clear and
rippling along, and, as we descended the steep bank to the water, the
question, so natural to a traveller in an unknown region, presented
itself, "Is it fordable?"
Petaille, to whom the ground was familiar, had not yet made his
appearance Lecuyer was quite ignorant upon the subject. The troops had
evidently preceded us by this very trail. True, but they were on
horseback--the difficulty was, could we get the carriage through? It
must be remembered that the doubt was not about the depth of the water,
but about the hardness of the bottom of the stream.
It was agreed that two or three of the equestrians should make the
trial first. My mother, Lecuyer, and myself advanced cautiously across
to the opposite bank, each choosing a different point for leaving the
water, in order to find the firmest spot. The bottom was hard and firm
until we came near the shore; then it yielded a little. With one step,
however, we were each on dry ground.
"Est-il beau?" called my husband, who was driving.
"Oui, monsieur."
"Yes, John, come just here, it is perfectly good."
"No, no--go a little farther down. See the white gravel just there--it
will be firmer still, there."
Such were the contradictory directions given. He chose the latter, and
when it wanted but one step more to the bank, down sunk both horses,
until little more than their backs were visible.
The white gravel proved to be a bed of treacherous yellow clay, which,
gleaming through the water, had caused so unfortunate a deception.
With frantic struggles, for they were nearly suffocated with mud and
water, the horses made desperate efforts to free themselves from the
harness. My husband sprang out upon the pole. "Some one give me a
knife," he cried. I was back in the water in a moment, and, approaching
as near as I dared, handed him mine from the scabbard around my neck.
"Whatever you do, do not cut the traces," cried his mother.
He severed some of the side-straps, when, just as he had reached the
extremity of the pole, and was stretching forward to separate the
head-couplings, one of the horses gave a furious plunge, which caused
his fellow to rear, and throw himself nearly backwards. My husband was
between them. For a moment we thought he was gone--trampled down by the
excited animals; but he presently showed himself, nearly obscured by the
mud and water. With the agility of a cat, Harry, who was near him, now
sprang forward on the pole, and in an instant, with his sharp jack-knife
which he had ready, divided the straps that confined their heads.
The horses were at this moment lying floating on the water--one
apparently dead, the other as if gasping out his last breath. But hardly
did they become sensible of the release of their heads from bondage,
than they made, simultaneously, another furious effort to free
themselves from the pole, to which they were still attached by the
neck-strap.
Failing in this, they tried another expedient, and, by a few judicious
twists and turns, succeeded in wrenching the pole asunder, and finally
carried it off in triumph across the river again, and up the bank, where
they stood waiting to decide what were the next steps to be taken.
Here was a predicament! A few hours before, we had thought ourselves
uncomfortable enough, because some of our horses were missing. Now, a
greater evil had befallen us. The wagon was in the river, the harness
cut to pieces, and, what was worse, carried off in the most independent
manner, by Tom and his companion; the pole was twisted to fragments, and
there was not so much as a stick on our side of the river with which to
replace it.
At this moment, a whoop from the opposite bank, echoed by two or three
hearty ones from our party, announced the reappearance of Petaille
Grignon. He dismounted and took charge of the horses, who were resting
themselves after their fatigues under a shady tree, and by this time
Lecuyer had crossed the river, and now joined him in bringing back the
delinquents.
In the mean time we had been doing our best to minister to our sister
Margaret. She, with her little son Edwin, had been in the wagon at the
time of the accident, and it had been a work of some difficulty to get
them out and bring them on horseback to shore. The effect of the
agitation and excitement was to throw her into a fit of the ague, and
she now lay blue and trembling among the long grass of the little
prairie which extended along the bank. The tent, which had been packed
in the rear of the wagon, was too much saturated with mud and water to
admit of its being used as a shelter; it could only be stretched in the
sun to dry. We opened an umbrella over our poor sister's head, and now
began a discussion of ways and means to repair damages. The first thing
was to cut a new pole for the wagon, and for this, the master and men
must recross the river and choose an _iron-tree_ out of the forest.
Then, for the harness. With provident care, a little box had been placed
under the seat of the wagon, containing an awl, waxed ends, and various
other little conveniences exactly suited to an emergency like the
present.
It was question and answer, like Cock Robin:
"Who can mend the harness?"
"I can, for I learned when I was a young girl to make shoes as _an
accomplishment_, and I can surely now, as a matter of usefulness and
duty, put all those wet, dirty pieces of leather together."
So we all seated ourselves on the grass, under the shade of the only two
umbrellas we could muster.
I stitched away diligently, blistering my hands, I must own, in no small
degree.
A suitable young tree had been brought, and the hatchets, without which
one never travels in the woods, were busy fashioning it into shape, when
a peculiar hissing noise was heard, and instantly the cry,--
"_Un serpent sonnette_! A rattlesnake!"
All sprang to their feet, even the poor, shaking invalid, just in time
to see the reptile glide past within three inches of my mother's feet,
while the men assailed the spot it had left with whips, missiles, and
whatever would help along the commotion.
This little incident proved an excellent remedy for the ague. One
excitement drives away another, and by means of this (upon the
homoeopathic principle) sister Margaret was so much improved that by the
time all the mischiefs were repaired, she was ready to take her place in
the cavalcade, as bright and cheerful as the rest of us.
So great had been the delay occasioned by all these untoward
circumstances, that our afternoon's ride was but a short one, bringing
us no farther than the shores of a beautiful sheet of water, now known
as Crystal Lake. Its clear surface was covered with loons, and _Poules
d'Eau_, a species of rail; with which, at certain seasons, this region
abounds.
The Indians have the genius of Aesop for depicting animal life and
character, and there is among them a fable or legend illustrative of
every peculiarity in the personal appearance, habits, or dispositions of
each variety of the animal creation.
The back of the little rail is very concave, or hollow. The Indians tell
us that it became so in the following manner:--
STORY OF THE LITTLE RAIL, OR _Poule d'Eau_
There is supposed, by most of the Northwestern tribes, to exist an
invisible being, corresponding to the "Genie" of Oriental story. Without
being exactly the father of evil, _Nan-nee-bo-zho_ is a spirit whose
office it is to punish what is amiss. He is represented, too, as
constantly occupied in entrapping and making examples of all the
animals that come in his way.
One pleasant evening, as he walked along the banks of a lake, he saw a
flock of ducks, sailing and enjoying themselves on the blue waters. He
called to them:
"Ho! come with me into my lodge, and I will teach you to dance!" Some of
the ducks said among themselves, "It is Nan-nee-bo-zho; let us not go."
Others were of a contrary opinion, and, his words being fair, and his
voice insinuating, a few turned their faces towards the land--all the
rest soon followed, and, with many pleasant quackings, trooped after
him, and entered his lodge.
When there, he first took an Indian sack, with a wide mouth, which he
tied by the strings around his neck, so that it would hang over his
shoulders, leaving the mouth unclosed. Then, placing himself in the
centre of the lodge, he ranged the ducks in a circle around him.
"Now," said he, "you must all shut your eyes _tight_; whoever opens his
eyes at all, something dreadful will happen to him. I will take my
Indian flute and play upon it, and you will, at the word I shall give,
open your eyes, and commence dancing, as you see me do."
The ducks obeyed, shutting their eyes _tight_, and keeping time to the
music by stepping from one foot to the other, all impatient for the
dancing to begin.
Presently a sound was heard like a smothered "quack," but the ducks did
not dare to open their eyes.
Again, and again, the sound of the flute would be interrupted, and a
gurgling cry of "qu-a-a-ck" be heard. There was one little duck, much
smaller than the rest, who, at this juncture, could not resist the
temptation to open one eye, cautiously. She saw Nan-nee-bo-zho, as he
played his flute, holding it with one hand, stoop a little at intervals
and seize the duck nearest him, which he throttled and stuffed into the
bag on his shoulders. So, edging a little out of the circle, and getting
nearer the door, which had been left partly open, to admit the light,
she cried out,--
"Open your eyes--Nan-nee-bo-zho is choking you all and putting you into
his bag!"
With that she flew, but Nan-nee-bo-zho pounced upon her. His hand
grasped her back, yet, with desperate force, she released herself and
gained the open air. Her companions flew, quacking and screaming, after
her. Some escaped, and some fell victims to the sprite.
The little duck had saved her life, but she had lost her beauty. She
ever after retained the attitude she had been forced into in her moment
of danger--her back pressed down in the centre, and her head and neck
unnaturally stretched forward into the air.