Abominable A Novel

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Abominable A Novel

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.
before we could reach it, and it was out of the question to leave the
beaten track for a regular hunt.
Soon after mid-day, we descended a long, sloping knoll, and by a
sudden turn came full in view of the beautiful sheet of water
denominated Gros-pied by the French, Maunk-suck by the natives,
and by ourselves Big-foot, from the chief, whose village overlooked its
waters. Bold, swelling hills jutted forward into the clear blue expanse,
or retreated slightly to afford a green, level nook, as a resting-place
for the foot of man. On the nearer shore stretched a bright, gravelly
beach, through which coursed here and there a pure, sparkling rivulet
to join the larger sheet of water.
On a rising ground, at the foot of one of the bold bluffs in the
middle distance, a collection of neat wigwams formed, with their
surrounding gardens, no unpleasant feature in the picture.
A shout of delight burst involuntarily from the whole party, as this
charming landscape met our view. “It was like the Hudson, only less
bold—no, it was like the lake of the Forest Cantons, in the picture of
the Chapel of William Tell! What could be imagined more enchanting?
Oh! if our friends at the east could but enjoy it with us!”
We paused long to admire, and then spurred on, skirting the head
of the lake, and were soon ascending the broad platform, on which
stood the village of Maunk-suck, or Big-foot.
The inhabitants, who had witnessed our approach from a
distance, were all assembled in front of their wigwams to greet us, if
friends—if otherwise, whatever the occasion should demand. It was
the first time such a spectacle had ever presented itself to their
wondering eyes. Their salutations were not less cordial than we
expected. “Shaw-nee-aw-kee” and his mother, who was known
throughout the tribe by the touching appellation “Our friend’s wife,”
were welcomed most kindly, and an animated conversation
commenced, which I could understand only so far as it was conveyed
by gestures—so I amused myself by taking a minute survey of all that
met my view.
 The chief was a large, raw-boned, ugly Indian, with a
countenance bloated by intemperance, and with a sinister, unpleasant
expression. He had a gay-colored handkerchief upon his head, and
was otherwise attired in his best, in compliment to the strangers.
It was to this chief that Chambly, or as he is now called Shau-bee-
nay, Billy Caldwell and Robinson were despatched, during the
Winnebago war, in 1827, to use their earnest endeavors to prevent
him and his band from joining the hostile Indians.[78] With some
difficulty they succeeded, and were thus the means, doubtless, of
saving the lives of all the settlers who lived exposed upon the frontier.
Among the various groups of his people, there was none attracted
my attention so forcibly as a young man of handsome face, and a
figure that was striking, even where all were fine and symmetrical. He
too had a gay handkerchief on his head, a shirt of the brightest
lemon-colored calico, an abundance of silver ornaments, and, what
gave his dress a most fanciful appearance, one leggin of blue, and
the other of bright scarlet. I was not ignorant that this peculiar
feature in his toilette indicated a heart suffering from the tender
passion. The flute, which he carried in his hand, added confirmation
to the fact, while the joyous, animated expression of his countenance
showed with equal plainness that he was not a despairing lover.
I could have imagined him to have recently returned from the
chase, laden with booty, with which he had, as is the custom, entered
the lodge of the fair one, and throwing his burden at the feet of her
parents, with an indifferent, superb sort of air, as much as to say,
“Here is some meat—it is a mere trifle, but it will show you what you
might expect with me for a son-in-law.” I could not doubt that the
damsel had stepped forward and gathered it up, in token that she
accepted the offering, and the donor along with it. There was nothing
in the appearance or manner of any of the maidens by whom we
were surrounded to denote which was the happy fair, neither,
although I peered anxiously into all their countenances, could I there
detect any blush of consciousness, so I was obliged to content myself
with selecting the youngest and prettiest of the group, and go on
weaving my romance to my own satisfaction.
The village stood encircled by an amphitheatre of hills, so
precipitous, and with gorges so steep and narrow, that it seemed
almost impossible to scale them, even on horseback—how then could
we hope to accomplish the ascent of the four-wheeled carriage? This
was the point now under discussion between my husband and the
Pottowattamies. There was no choice but to make the effort,
selecting the pass that the inhabitants pointed out as the most
practicable. Petaille went first, and I followed on my favorite Jerry. It
was such a scramble as is not often taken. Almost perpendicularly,
through what seemed the dry bed of a torrent, now filled with loose
stones, and scarcely affording one secure foothold from the bottom to
the summit! I clung fast to the mane, literally at times clasping Jerry
around his neck, and amid the encouraging shouts and cheers of
those below, we at length arrived safely, though nearly breathless, on
the pinnacle, and sat looking down, to view the success of the next
party.
The horses had been taken from the carriage, and the luggage it
contained placed upon the shoulders of some of the young Indians,
to be toted up the steep. Ropes were now attached to its sides, and a
regular bevy of our red friends, headed by our two Frenchmen,
placed to man them. Two or three more took their places in the rear,
to hold the vehicle and keep it from slipping backwards—then the
labor commenced. Such a pulling! such a shouting! such a clapping of
hands by the spectators of both sexes! such a stentorian word of
command or encouragement from the bourgeois! Now and then there
would be a slight halt, a wavering, as if carriage and men were about
to tumble backwards into the plain below—but no—they recovered
themselves, and after incredible efforts they, too, safely gained the
table land above. In process of time all were landed there, and
having remunerated our friends to their satisfaction, the goods and
chattels were collected, the wagon repacked, and we set off for our
encampment at Turtle Creek.[79]
 BIG FOOT’S VILLAGE AND LAKE.
From sketch by Mrs. Kinzie, in original edition.

The exertions and excitement of our laborious ascent, together

with the increasing heat of the sun, made this afternoon’s ride more
uncomfortable than anything we had previously felt. We were truly
rejoiced when the “whoop” of our guide, and the sight of a few
scattered lodges, gave notice that we had reached our encamping
ground. We chose a beautiful sequestered spot, by the side of a clear,
sparkling stream, and having dismounted, and seen that our horses
were made comfortable, my husband, after giving his directions to his
men, led me to a retired spot where I could lay aside my hat and
mask, and bathe my flushed face and aching head in the cool,
refreshing waters. Never had I felt anything so grateful, so delicious. I
sat down, and leaned my head against one of the tall, overshadowing
trees, and was almost dreaming, when summoned to partake of our
evening meal.
The Indians had brought us, as a present, some fine brook trout,
which our Frenchmen had prepared in the most tempting fashion,
and before the bright moon rose and we were ready for our rest, all
headache and fatigue had alike disappeared.

One of the most charming features of this mode of travelling is

the joyous, vocal life of the forest at early dawn, when all the
feathered tribe come forth to pay their cheerful salutations to the
opening day.
The rapid, chattering flourish of the bob-o'-link, the soft whistle of
the thrush, the tender coo of the wood-dove, the deep warbling bass
of the grouse, the drumming of the partridge, the melodious trill of
the lark, the gay carol of the robin, the friendly, familiar call of the
duck and the teal, resound from tree and knoll and lowland,
prompting the expressive exclamation of the simple half-breed,

“Voila la fort qui parle!”[AR]

[AR] How the woods talk!

It seems as if man must involuntarily raise his voice, to take part

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

“These are thy glorious works, Parent of Good.”

This day we were journeying in hopes to reach, at an early hour,

that broad expanse of the Rock River which here forms the Kosh-ko-
nong. The appellation of this water, rendered doubly affecting by the
subsequent fate of its people, imports "the lake we live on."[80]
Our road for the early part of the day led through forests so thick
and tangled, that Grignon and Lecuyer were often obliged to go in
advance as pioneers with their axes, to cut away the obstructing
shrubs and branches. It was slow work, and at times quite
discouraging, but we were through with it, at last, and then we came
into a country of altogether a different description. Low prairies,
intersected with deep, narrow streams like canals, the passage of
which, either by horses or carriage, was often a matter of delay and
even difficulty.
Several times in the course of the forenoon the horses were to be
taken from the carriage and the latter pulled and pushed across the
deep, narrow channels as best it might.
The wooded banks of the Kosh-ko-nong were never welcomed
with greater delight than by us, when they at length broke upon our
sight. A ride of five or six miles through the beautiful oak openings,
brought us to Man-eater’s village, a collection of neat bark wigwams,
with extensive fields on each side of corn, beans, and squashes,
recently planted, but already giving promise of a fine crop. In front
was the broad blue lake, the shores of which, to the south, were
open and marshy, but near the village, and stretching far away to the
north, were bordered by fine lofty trees. The village was built but a
short distance below the point where the Rock River opens into the
lake, and during a conversation between our party and the Indians at
the village, an arrangement was made with them to take us across at
a spot about half a mile above.
After a short halt, we again took up our line of march through the
woods, along the bank of the river.
A number of the Winnebagoes (for we had been among our own
people since leaving Gros-pied Lake), set out for the appointed place
by water, paddling their canoes, of which they had selected the
largest and strongest.
Arrived at the spot indicated, we dismounted, and the men
commenced the task of unsaddling and unloading. We were soon
placed in the canoes, and paddled across to the opposite bank. Next,
the horses were swum across—after them was to come the carriage.
Two long wooden canoes were securely lashed together side by side,
and being of sufficient width to admit of the carriage standing within
them, the passage was commenced. Again and again the tottering
barks would sway from side to side, and a cry or a shout would arise
from our party on shore, as the whole mass seemed about to plunge
sideways into the water, but it would presently recover itself, and at
length, after various deviations from the perpendicular, it reached the
shore in safety.
We now hoped that our troubles were at an end, and that we had
nothing to do but to mount and trot on as fast as possible to Fort
Winnebago. But no. Half a mile further on was a formidable swamp,
of no great width it is true, but with a depth of from two to three feet
of mud and water. It was a question whether, with the carriage, we
could get through it at all. Several of the Indians accompanied us to
this place, partly to give us their aid and counsel, and partly to enjoy
the fun of the spectacle.
On reaching the swamp, we were disposed to laugh at the
formidable representations which had been made to us. We saw only
a strip of what seemed rather low land, covered with tall, dry rushes.
It is true the ground looked a little wet, but there seemed nothing
to justify all the apprehensions that had been excited. Great was my
surprise, then, to see my husband, who had been a few minutes
absent, return to our circle attired in his duck trousers, and without
shoes or stockings.
“What are you going to do?” inquired I.
“Carry you through the swamp on my shoulders. Come Petaille,
you are the strongest—you are to carry Madame Kinzie, and To-shim-
nuck there, (pointing to a tall stout Winnebago), he will take Madame
Helm.”
“Wait a moment,” said I, and seating myself on the grass, I
deliberately took off my own boots and stockings.
“What is that for?” they all asked.
 “Because I do not wish to ride with wet feet all the rest of the
day.”
“No danger of that,” said they, and no one followed my example.
By the time they were in the midst of the swamp, however, they
found my precaution was by no means useless. The water through
which our bearers had to pass was of such a depth that no efforts of
the ladies were sufficient to keep their feet above the surface; and I
had the satisfaction of feeling that my burden upon my husband’s
shoulders was much less, from my being able to keep my first
position instead of changing constantly to avoid a contact with the
water.
The laugh was quite on my side when I resumed my equipment
and mounted, dry-shod, into my saddle.
It will be perceived that journeying in the woods is, in some
degree, a deranger of ceremony and formality; that it necessarily
restricts us somewhat in our conventionalities. The only remedy is, to
make ourselves amends by a double share when we return to the
civilized walks of life.
By dint of much pulling, shouting, encouraging and threatening,
the horses at length dragged the carriage through the difficult pass,
and our red friends were left to return to their village, with,
doubtless, a very exaggerated and amusing account of all that they
had seen and assisted in.
We had not forgotten our promise to Lieut. Foster to put up a
“guide-board” of some sort, for his accommodation in following us.
We had therefore, upon several occasions, carried with us from the
woods a few pieces, of three or four feet in length, which we had
planted at certain points, with a transverse stick through a cleft in the
top, thus marking the direction he and his party were to take.
We therefore felt sure that, although a few days later, he would
probably find our trail, and avail himself of the same assistance as we
had, in getting through the difficulties of the way.
 Our encamping ground, this night, was to be not far distant from
the Four Lakes.[81] We were greatly fatigued with the heat and
exercise of the day, and most anxiously did we look out for the
clumps of willows and alders, which were to mark the spot were the
water would be found. We felt hardly equal to pushing on quite to the
bank of the nearest lake. Indeed, it would have taken us too much off
our direct course.
When we, at a late hour, came upon a spot fit for our purpose, we
exchanged mutual congratulations that this was to be our last night
upon the road. The next day we should be at Winnebago!
Our journey had been most delightful—a continued scene of
exhilaration and enjoyment; for the various mishaps, although for the
moment they had perplexed, had, in the end, but added to our
amusement. Still, with the inconstancy of human nature, we were
pleased to exchange its excitement for the quiet repose of home.
Our next morning’s ride was of a more tranquil character than any
that had preceded it; for at an early hour we entered upon what was
known as the “Twenty-mile Prairie,” although it is, in fact, said to be
no more than sixteen or eighteen miles. I can only observe, that if
this is the case, the miles are wonderfully long on the prairies. Our
passage over this was, except the absence of the sand, like crossing
the desert. Mile after mile of unbroken expanse—not a tree—not a
living object except ourselves.
The sun, as if to make himself amends for his two months'
seclusion, shone forth with redoubled brilliancy. There is no such
thing as carrying an umbrella on horseback, though those in the
wagon were able to avail themselves of such a shelter.
Our mother’s energies had sustained her in the saddle until this
day, but she was now fairly obliged to give in, and yield her place on
little Brunêt to Sister Margaret.
Thus we went on, one little knoll rising beyond another, from the
summit of each of which, in succession, we hoped to descry the
distant woods, which were to us as the promised land.
“Take courage,” were the cheering words, often repeated, “very
soon you will begin to see the timber.”
Another hour would pass heavily by.
“Now, when we reach the rising ground just ahead, look sharp.”
We looked sharp—nothing but the same unvarying landscape.
There were not even streams to allay the feverish thirst
occasioned by fatigue and impatience.
At length a whoop from Shaw-nee-aw-kee broke the silence in
which we were pursuing our way.
“Le voila!” (“There it is!”)
Our less practised eye could not at first discern the faint blue strip
edging the horizon, but it grew and grew upon our vision, and all
fatigue and discomfort proportionably disappeared.
We were in fine spirits by the time we reached “Hastings' Woods,”
a noble forest, watered by a clear, sparkling stream.
Grateful as was the refreshment of the green foliage and the
cooling waters, we did not allow ourselves to forget that the day was
wearing on, and that we must, if possible, complete our journey
before sunset, so we soon braced up our minds to continue our route,
although we would gladly have lingered another hour.
The marsh of Duck Creek was, thanks to the heat of the past
week, in a very different state from what it had been a few months
previous, when I had been so unfortunately submerged in its icy
waters.
We passed it without difficulty, and soon found ourselves upon the
banks of the creek.
 The stream, at this point, was supposed to be always fordable;
and even were it not so, that to the majority of our party would have
been a matter of little moment. To the ladies, however, the subject
seemed to demand consideration.
“This water looks very deep—are you sure we can cross it on
horseback?”
“Oh, yes! Petaille, go before and let us see how the water is.”
Petaille obeyed. He was mounted on a horse like a giraffe, and,
extending his feet horizontally, he certainly managed to pass through
the stream without much of a wetting.
It seemed certain that the water would come into the wagon, but
that was of the less consequence, as in case of the worst, the
passengers could mount upon the seats.
My horse, Jerry, was above the medium height, so that I soon
passed over, with no inconvenience but that of being obliged to
disengage my feet from the stirrups, and tuck them up snugly against
the mane of the horse.
Sister Margaret was still upon Brunêt. She was advised to change
him for one of the taller horses, but while the matter was under
debate, it was settled by the perverse little wretch taking to the water
most unceremoniously, in obedience to the example of the other
animals.
He was soon beyond his depth, and we were at once alarmed and
diverted at seeing his rider, with surprising adroitness, draw herself
from the stirrups, and perch herself upon the top of the saddle,
where she held her position, and navigated her little refractory steed
safely to land.
This was the last of our adventures. A pleasant ride of four miles
brought us to the Fort, just as the sun was throwing his last beams
over the glowing landscape; and on reaching the ferry, we were at
once conducted, by the friends who were awaiting us, to the
hospitable roof of Major Twiggs.[82]

CHAPTER XXVI

FOUR-LEGS, THE DANDY

The companies of the first regiment which had hitherto been
stationed at Fort Winnebago,[83] had received orders to move on to
the Mississippi as soon as relieved by a portion of the fifth, now at
Fort Howard.
As many of the officers of the latter regiment were married, we
had reason to expect that all the quarters at the post would be put in
requisition. For this reason, although strongly pressed by Major
Twiggs to take up our residence again in the Fort, until he should go
on furlough, we thought it best to establish ourselves at once at “the
Agency.”
It seemed laughable to give so grand a name to so very
insignificant a concern. We had been promised, by the heads of
department at Washington, a comfortable dwelling so soon as there
should be an appropriation by Congress sufficient to cover any extra
expense in the Indian Department. It was evident that Congress had
a great spite at us, for it had delayed for two sessions attending to
our accommodation. There was nothing to be done, therefore, but to
make ourselves comfortable with the best means in our power.
Major Twiggs had given Mr. Kinzie the old log barracks, which had
been built for the officers and soldiers on the first establishment of
the post, two years previous, and his Frenchmen had removed and
put them up again upon the little hill opposite the Fort. To these some
additions were now made in the shape of a dairy, stables, smoke-
house, etc., constructed of the tamarack logs brought from the
neighboring swamp. The whole presented a very rough and primitive
appearance.
The main building consisted of a succession of four rooms, no two
of which communicated with each other, but each opened by a door
into the outward air. A small window cut through the logs in front and
rear, gave light to the apartment. An immense clay chimney for every
two rooms, occupied one side of each, and the ceiling overhead was
composed of a few rough boards laid upon the transverse logs that
supported the roof.
It was surprising how soon a comfortable, homelike air was given
to the old dilapidated rooms, by a few Indian mats spread upon the
floor, the piano and other furniture ranged in their appropriate places,
and even a few pictures hung against the logs. The latter, alas! had
soon to be displaced, for with the first heavy shower the rain found
entrance through sundry crevices, and we saw ourselves obliged to
put aside, carefully, everything that could be injured by the moisture.
We made light of these evils, however—packed away our carpets and
superfluous furniture upon the boards above, which we dignified with
the name of attic, and contentedly resolved to await the time when
Government should condescend to remember us. The greatest
inconvenience I experienced, was from the necessity of wearing my
straw bonnet throughout the day, as I journeyed from bedroom to
parlor, and from parlor to kitchen. I became so accustomed to it, that
I even sometimes forgot to remove it when I sat down to table, or to
my quiet occupations with my mother and sister.
Permission was however, in time, received to build a house for the
blacksmith—that is, the person kept in pay by the Government at this
station to mend the guns, traps, &c. of the Indians.
It happened most fortunately for us that Monsieur Isidore Morrin
was a bachelor, and quite satisfied to continue boarding with his
friend Louis Frum, dit Manaigre, so that when the new house was
fairly commenced, we planned it and hurried it forward entirely on
our own account.
 It was not very magnificent, it is true, consisting of but a parlor
and two bedrooms on the ground-floor, and two low chambers under
the roof, with a kitchen in the rear; but compared with the rambling
old stable-like building we now inhabited, it seemed quite a palace.
Before it was completed, Mr. Kinzie was notified that the money
for the annual Indian payment was awaiting his arrival in Detroit to
take charge of it, and superintend its transportation to the Portage,
and he was obliged to set off at once to fulfil this part of his duty.
The workmen who had been brought from the Mississippi to erect
the main building, were fully competent to carry on their work
without an overseer, but the kitchen was to be the task of the
Frenchmen, and the question was, how could it be executed in the
absence of the bourgeois?
“You will have to content yourselves in the old quarters until my
return,” said my husband, “and then we will soon have things in
order.” It was to be a long and tedious journey, for the operations of
Government were not carried on by railroad and telegraph in those
days.
After his departure I said to the men, "Come, you have all your
logs cut and hauled—the squaws have brought the bark for the roof—
what is to prevent our finishing the house and getting all moved and
settled to surprise Monsieur John on his return?"
“Ah! to be sure, Madame John,” said Plante, who was always the
spokesman, “provided the one who plants a green bough on the
chimney-top is to have a treat!”
“Certainly. All hands fall to work, and see who will win the treat.”
Upon the strength of such an inducement to the one who should
put the finishing stroke to the building, Plante, Pillon and Manaigre,
whom the waggish Plante persisted in calling “mon nègre,” whenever
he felt himself out of the reach of the other’s arm, all went vigorously
to work.
 Building a log-house is a somewhat curious process. First, as will
be conceived, the logs are laid one upon another and joined at the
corners, until the walls have reached the required height. The
chimney is formed by four poles of the proper length, interlaced with
a wicker-work of small branches. A hole or pit is dug, near at hand,
and with a mixture of clay and water, a sort of mortar is formed.
Large wisps of hay are filled with this thick substance, and fashioned
with the hands into what are technically called “clay cats,” and then
are filled in among the framework of the chimney until not a chink is
left. The whole is then covered with a smooth coating of the wet clay,
which is denominated, “plastering.”
Between the logs which compose the walls of the building, small
bits of wood are driven, quite near together; this is called “chinking,”
and after it is done, clay cats are introduced, and smoothed over with
the plaster. When all is dry, both walls and chimney are white-
washed, and present a comfortable and tidy appearance.
The roof is formed by laying upon the transverse logs, thick sheets
of bark, and around the chimney, for greater security against the rain,
we took care to have placed a few layers of the palisades that had
been left, when Mr. Peach, an odd little itinerant genius, had fenced in
our garden, the pride and wonder of the surrounding settlement and
wigwams.
While all these matters were in progress, we received frequent
visits from our Indian friends. First and foremost among them was
“the young Dandy,” Four-Legs.
One fine morning he made his appearance accompanied by two
squaws, whom he introduced as his wives. He could speak a little
Chippewa, and by this means he and our mother contrived to keep up
something of a conversation. He was dressed in all his finery,
brooches, wampum, fan, looking-glass and all. The paint upon his
face and chest showed that he had devoted no small time to the
labors of his toilet.
 He took a chair, as he had seen done at Washington, and made
signs to his women to sit down upon the floor.
The custom of taking two wives is not very general among the
Indians. They seem to have the sagacity to perceive that the fewer
they have to manage, the more complete is the peace and quiet of
the wigwam.
Nevertheless, it sometimes happens that a husband takes a
foolish fancy for a second squaw, and in that case he uses all his
cunning and eloquence to reconcile the first to receiving a new
inmate in the lodge. Of course it is a matter that must be managed
adroitly, in order that harmony may be preserved.
"My dear, your health is not very good, it is time you should have
some rest. You have worked very hard, and it grieves me that you
should have to labor any longer. Let me get you some nice young
squaw to wait upon you, that you may live at ease all the rest of your
life."
The first wife consents—indeed, she has no option. If she is of a
jealous, vindictive disposition, what a life the new-comer leads! The
old one maintains all her rights of dowager and duenna, and the
husband’s tenderness is hardly a compensation for all the evils the
young rival is made to suffer.
It was on Sunday morning that this visit of the Dandy was made
to us. We were all seated quietly, engaged in reading. Four-Legs
inquired of my mother, why we were so occupied, and why everything
around us was so still.
My mother explained to him our observance of the day of rest—
that we devoted it to worshipping and serving the Great Spirit, as he
had commanded in his Holy Word.
Four-Legs gave a nod of approbation. That was very right, he said
—he was glad to see us doing our duty—he was very religious
himself, and he liked to see others so. He always took care that his
squaws attended to their duty, not reading perhaps, but such as the
Great Spirit liked, and such as he thought proper and becoming.
He seemed to have no fancy for listening to any explanation of
our points of difference. The impression among the Winnebagoes
“that if the Great Spirit had wished them different from what they
are, he would have made them so,” seems too strong to yield to
either argument or persuasion.
Sometimes those who are desirous of appearing somewhat
civilized will listen quietly to all that is advanced on the subject of
Christianity, and coolly saying, “Yes, we believe that, too,” will change
the conversation to other subjects.
As a general thing, they do not appear to perceive that there is
anything to be gained, by adopting the religion and the customs of
the whites. “Look at them,” they say, “always toiling and striving—
always wearing a brow of care—shut up in houses—afraid of the wind
and the rain—suffering when they are deprived of the comforts of
life! We, on the contrary, live a life of freedom and happiness. We
hunt and fish, and pass our time pleasantly in the open woods and
prairies. If we are hungry, we take some game; or, if we do not find
that, we can go without. If our enemies trouble us, we can kill them,
and there is no more said about it. What should we gain by changing
ourselves into white men?”[AS]
[AS] It will be remembered that these were the arguments
used a quarter of a century ago, when the Indians possessed most
of the broad lands on the Upper Mississippi and its tributaries.

I have never heard that Christian missionaries, with all their

efforts to convert them, have made much progress in enlightening
their minds upon the doctrines of the Gospel. Mr. Mazzuchelli, a
Roman Catholic priest, accompanied by Miss Elizabeth Grignon as
interpreter, made a missionary visit to the Portage during our
residence there, and, after some instruction to them, about forty
consented to be baptized.[84] Christian names were given to them
with which they seemed much pleased; and not less so, with the little
plated crucifixes which each received, and which the women wore
about their necks. These they seemed to regard with a devotional
feeling; but I was not sufficiently acquainted with their language to
gather from them whether they understood the doctrine the symbol
was designed to convey. Certain it is, they expressed no wish to learn
our language, in order that they might gain a fuller knowledge of the
Saviour, nor any solicitude to be taught more about him than they
had received during the missionary’s short visit.
One woman, to whom the name of Charlotte had been given,
signified a desire to learn the domestic ways of the whites, and asked
of me as a favor through Madame Paquette that she might be
permitted to come on “washing-day,” and learn of my servants our
way of managing the business. A tub was given her, and my woman
instructed her, by signs and example, how she was to manage. As I
was not a little curious to observe how tilings went on, I proceeded
after a time to the kitchen where they all were. Charlotte was at her
tub, scouring and rubbing with all her might at her little crucifix. Two
other squaws sat upon the floor near her, watching the operation.
“That is the work she has been at for the last half hour,” said
Josette, in a tone of great impatience. “She’ll never learn to wash.”
Charlotte, however, soon fell diligently to work, and really seemed
as if she would tear her arms off, with her violent exertions.
After a time, supposing that she must feel a good deal fatigued
and exhausted with unaccustomed labor, I did what it was at that day
very much the fashion to do,—what, at home, I had always seen
done on washing-day,—what, in short, I imagine was then a general
custom among housekeepers. I went to the dining-room closet,
intending to give Charlotte a glass of wine or brandy and water. My
“cupboard” proved to be in the state of the luckless Mother Hubbard’s
—nothing of the kind could I find but a bottle of orange shrub.
Of this I poured out a wine-glass full, and, carrying it out, offered
it to the woman. She took it with an expression of great pleasure;
but, in carrying it to her lips, she stopped short, and exclaiming
“Whiskee!” immediately returned it to me. I would still have pressed it
upon her; for, in my inexperience, I really believed it was a cordial
she needed; but, pointing to her crucifix, she shook her head and
returned to her work.
I received this as a lesson more powerful than twenty sermons. It
was the first time in my life that I had ever seen spirituous liquors
rejected upon a religious principle, and it made an impression upon
me that I never forgot.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE CUT-NOSE
Among the women of the tribe with whom we early became
acquainted, our greatest favorite was a daughter of one of the Day-
kau-rays.[85] This family, as I have elsewhere said, boasted in some
remote generation a cross of the French blood, and this fact may
account for the fair complexion and soft curling hair which
distinguished our friend. She had a noble forehead, full expressive
eyes, and fine teeth. Unlike the women of her people, she had not
grown brown and haggard with advancing years. Indeed, with the
exception of one feature, she might be called beautiful.
She had many years before married a Mus-qua-kee, or Fox Indian,
and, according to the custom among all the tribes, the husband came
home to the wife’s family, and lived among the Winnebagoes.
It is this custom, so exactly the reverse of civilized ways, that
makes the birth of a daughter a subject of peculiar rejoicing in an
Indian family. “She will bring another hunter to our lodge,” is the style
of mutual congratulation.
 The Mus-qua-kee continued, for some few years, to live among
his wife’s relations; but, as no children blessed their union, he at
length became tired of his new friends, and longed to return to his
own people. He tried, for a time, to persuade his wife to leave her
home, and accompany him to the Mississippi, where the Sacs and
Foxes live, but in vain. She could not resolve to make the sacrifice.
One day, after many fruitless efforts to persuade her, he flew into
a violent passion.
“Then, if you will not go with me,” said he, “I will leave you; but
you shall never be the wife of any other man—I will mark you!”
Saying this, he flew upon her, and bit off the end of her nose.
This, the usual punishment for conjugal infidelity, is the greatest
disgrace a woman can receive—it bars her forever from again
entering the pale of matrimony. The wretch fled to his own people;
but his revenge fell short of its aim. Day-kau-ray was too well known
and too universally respected to suffer opprobium in any member of
his family. This bright, loving creature in particular, won all hearts
upon a first acquaintance—she certainly did ours from the outset.
She suffered much from rheumatism, and a remedy we gave her
soon afforded her almost entire relief. Her gratitude knew no bounds.
Notwithstanding, that from long suffering she had become partially
crippled, she would walk all the way from the Barribault, a distance of
ten miles, as often as once in two or three weeks, to visit us. Then, to
sit and gaze at us, to laugh with childish glee at everything new or
strange that we employed ourselves about—to pat and stroke us
every time we came near her—sometimes to raise our hand or arms
and kiss them—these were her demonstrations of affection. And we
loved her in return. It was always a joyful announcement when,
looking out over the Portage road, somebody called out, “the Cut-
nose is coming!” In time, however, we learned to call her by her
baptismal name of Elizabeth, for she, too, was one of Mr.
Mazzuchelli’s converts.