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MICHILIMACKINAC

From a sketch by Capt. S. Eastman, U. S. A., in Schoolcraft’s “Indian Tribes,” vol. iv., p. 188.

Probably few are ignorant of the fact, that all the Indian tribes, with the exception of the Miamis and the Wyandots, had, since the transfer of the old French possessions to the British Crown, maintained a firm alliance with the latter. The independence achieved by the United States did not alter the policy of the natives, nor did our Government succeed in winning or purchasing their friendship. Great Britain, it is true, bid high to retain them. Every year the leading men of the Chippewas, Ottawas, Pottowattamies, Menomonees, Winnebagoes, Sauks, and Foxes, and even still more remote tribes, journeyed from their distant homes to Fort Maiden in Upper Canada, to receive their annual amount of presents from their Great Father across the water. It was a master-policy thus to keep them in pay, and had enabled those who practised it to do fearful execution through the aid of such allies in the last war between the two countries.

The presents they thus received were of considerable value, consisting of blankets, broadcloths or strouding, calicoes, guns, kettles, traps, silver-works (comprising arm-bands, bracelets, brooches, and ear-bobs), looking-glasses, combs, and various other trinkets distributed with no niggardly hand.

The magazines and store-houses of the Fur Company were the resort of all the upper tribes for the sale of their commodities, and the purchase of all such articles as they had need of, including those above enumerated, and also ammunition, which, as well as money and liquor, their British friends very commendably omitted to furnish them.

Besides their furs, various in kind and often of great value—beaver, otter, marten, mink, silver-gray and red fox, wolf, bear, and wild cat, musk-rat, and smoked deer-skins—the Indians brought for trade maple-sugar in abundance, considerable quantities of both Indian corn and petit-blé,[B] beans and the folles avoines,[C] or wild-rice, while the squaws added to their quota of merchandize a contribution in the form of moccasins, hunting-pouches, mococks, or little boxes of birch-bark embroidered with porcupine quills and filled with maple-sugar, mats of a neat and durable fabric, and toy-models of Indian cradles, snow shoes, canoes, &c., &c.

[B] Corn which has been parboiled, shelled from the cob, and dried in the sun.

[C] Literally, crazy oats. It is the French name for the Menomonees.

It was no unusual thing, at this period, to see a hundred or more canoes of Indians at once approaching the island, laden with their articles of traffic; and if to these we add the squadrons of large Mackinac boats[6] constantly arriving from the outposts, with the furs, peltries, and buffalo-robes collected by the distant traders, some idea may be formed of the extensive operations and important position of the American Fur Company, as well as of the vast circle of human beings either immediately or remotely connected with it.

It is no wonder that the philanthropic mind, surveying these races of uncultivated heathen, should stretch forward to the time when, by an unwearied devotion of the white man’s energies, and an untiring sacrifice of self and fortune, his red brethren might rise in the scale of social civilization—when Education and Christianity should go hand in hand, to make “the wilderness blossom as the rose.”

Little did the noble souls at this day rejoicing in the success of their labors at Mackinac, anticipate that in less than a quarter of a century there would remain of all these numerous tribes but a few scattered bands, squalid, degraded, with scarce a vestige remaining of their former lofty character—their lands cajoled or wrested from them—the graves of their fathers turned up by the ploughshare—themselves chased farther and farther towards the setting sun, until they were literally grudged a resting place on the face of the earth!

Our visit to the Mission school was of short duration, for the “Henry Clay” was to leave at two o’clock, and in the meantime we were to see what we could of the village and its environs, and after that, dine with Mr. Mitchell, an old friend of my husband. As we walked leisurely along over the white gravelly road, many of the residences of the old inhabitants were pointed out to me. There was the dwelling of Madame Laframboise,[7] an Ottawa woman, whose husband had taught her to read and write, and who had ever after continued to use the knowledge she had acquired for the instruction and improvement of the youth among her own people. It was her custom to receive a class of young pupils daily at her house, that she might give them lessons in the branches mentioned, and also in the principles of the Roman Catholic religion, to which she was deeply devoted. She was a woman of a vast deal of energy and enterprise—of a tall and commanding figure, and most dignified deportment. After the death of her husband, who was killed while away at his trading-post by a Winnebago named White Ox, she was accustomed to visit herself the trading-posts, superintend the clerks and engagés, and satisfy herself that the business was carried on in a regular and profitable manner.

The Agency-house, with its unusual luxuries of piazza and gardens, was situated at the foot of the hill on which the fort was built. It was a lovely spot, notwithstanding the stunted and dwarfish appearance of all cultivated vegetation in this cold northern latitude.

The collection of rickety, primitive-looking buildings, occupied by the officials of the Fur Company, reflected no great credit on the architectural skill of my husband, who had superintended their construction, he told me, when little more than a boy.

There were, besides these, the residences of the Dousmans, the Abbotts, the Biddies, the Drews, and the Lashleys,[8] stretching away along the base of the beautiful hill, crowned with the white walls and buildings of the fort, the ascent to which was so steep, that on the precipitous face nearest the beach staircases were built by which to mount from below.

My head ached intensely, the effect of the motion of the boat on the previous day, but I did not like to give up to it; so after I had been shown all that could be seen of the little settlement in the short time allowed us, we repaired to Mr. Mitchell’s.

We were received by Mrs. M., an extremely pretty, delicate woman, part French and part Sioux, whose early life had been passed at Prairie du Chien, on the Mississippi.[9] She had been a great belle among the young officers at Fort Crawford; so much so, indeed, that the suicide of the post-surgeon was attributed to an unsuccessful attachment he had conceived for her. I was greatly struck with her soft and gentle manners, and the musical intonation of her voice, which I soon learned was a distinguishing peculiarity of those women in whom are united the French and native blood.

A lady, then upon a visit to the Mission, was of the company. She insisted on my lying down upon the sofa, and ministered most kindly to my suffering head. As she sat by my side, and expatiated upon the new sphere opening before me, she inquired:

“Do you not realize very strongly the entire deprivation of religious privileges you will be obliged to suffer in your distant home?”

“The deprivation,” said I, “will doubtless be great, but not entire; for I shall have my Prayer-Book, and though destitute of a church, we need not be without a mode of worship.”

How often afterwards, when cheered by the consolations of this precious book in the midst of the lonely wilderness, did I remember this conversation, and bless God that I could never, while retaining it, be without “religious privileges.”

We had not yet left the dinner-table, when the bell of the little steamer sounded to summon us on board, and we bade a hurried farewell to all our kind friends, bearing with us their hearty wishes for a safe and prosperous voyage.

A finer sight can scarcely be imagined than Mackinac, from the water. As we steamed away from the shore, the view came full upon us—the sloping beach with the scattered wigwams, and canoes drawn up here and there—the irregular, quaint-looking houses—the white walls of the fort, and beyond one eminence still more lofty, crowned with the remains of old Fort Holmes.[10] The whole picture completed, showed the perfect outline that had given the island its original Indian name, Mich-i-li-mack-i-nack, the Big Turtle.

Then those pure, living waters, in whose depths the fish might be seen gliding and darting to and fro, whose clearness is such that an object dropped to the bottom may be discerned at the depth of fifty or sixty feet, a dollar lying far down on its green bed, looking no larger than a half dime. I could hardly wonder at the enthusiastic lady who exclaimed: “Oh! I could wish to be drowned in these pure, beautiful waters!”

As we passed the extreme western point of the island, my husband pointed out to me, far away to the north-west, a promontory which he told me was Point St. Ignace. It possessed great historic interest, as one of the earliest white settlements on this continent. The Jesuit missionaries had established here a church and school as early as 1607, the same year in which a white settlement was made at St. Augustine, in Florida, and one year before the founding of Jamestown, Virginia.[11]

All that remains of the enterprises of these devoted men, is the remembrance of their labors, perpetuated, in most instances, only by the names of the spots which witnessed their efforts of love in behalf of their savage brethren. The little French church at Sandwich, opposite Detroit, alone is left, a witness of the zeal and self-sacrifice of these pioneers of Christianity.[12]

Passing “Old Mackinac,” on the main land, which forms the southern border of the straits, we soon came out into the broad waters of Lake Michigan. Every traveller, and every reader of our history, is familiar with the incidents connected with the taking of the old fort by the Indians, in the days of Pontiac. How, by means of a game of ball, played in an apparently friendly spirit outside the walls, and of which the officers and soldiers had come forth to be spectators, the ball was dexterously tossed over the wall, and the savages rushing in, under pretext of finding it, soon got possession and massacred the garrison.

The little Indian village of L’Arbre Croche[13] gleamed far away south, in the light of the setting sun. With that exception, there was no sign of living habitation along that vast and wooded shore. The gigantic forest-trees, and here and there the little glades of prairie opening to the water, showed a landscape that would have gladdened the eye of the agriculturist, with its promise of fertility; but it was evidently untrodden by the foot of man, and we left it, in its solitude, as we took our course westward across the waters.

The rainy and gusty weather, so incident to the equinoctial season, overtook us again before we reached the mouth of Green Bay, and kept us company until the night of our arrival upon the flats, about three miles below the settlement. Here the little steamer grounded “fast and hard.” As almost every one preferred braving the elements to remaining cooped up in the quarters we had occupied for the past week, we decided to trust ourselves to the little boat, spite of wind, and rain, and darkness, and in due time we reached the shore.

CHAPTER III

GREEN BAY

Our arrival at Green Bay was at an unfortunate moment. It was the time of a treaty between the United States Government and the Menomonees and Wau-ba-na-kees. Consequently, not only the commissioners of the treaty, with their clerks and officials, but traders, claimants, travellers, and idlers innumerable were upon the ground. Most of these were congregated in the only hotel the place afforded. This was a tolerably-sized house near the river-side, and as we entered the long dining-room, cold and dripping from the open boat, we were infinitely amused at the motley assemblage it contained. Various groups were seated around. New comers, like ourselves, stood here and there, for there were not seats enough to accommodate all who sought entertainment. Judge Arndt, the landlord, sat calm and indifferent, his hands in his pockets, exhibiting all the phlegm of a Pennsylvania Dutchman.[14]

His fat, notable spouse was trotting round, now stopping to scold about some one who, “burn his skin!” had fallen short in his duty, now laughing good humoredly until her sides shook, at some witticism addressed to her.

She welcomed us very cordially, but to our inquiry, “Can you accommodate us?” her reply was, “Not I. I have got twice as many people now as I know what to do with. I have had to turn my own family out of their quarters, what with the commissioners and the lot of folks that has come in upon us.”

FORT HOWARD IN 1855.

From daguerreotype in possession of Wisconsin Historical Society.

"What are we to do then? It is too late and stormy to go up to Shanty-town[15] to seek for lodgings."

“Well, sit you down and take your supper, and we will see what we can do.”

And she actually did contrive to find a little nook, in which we were glad to take refuge from the multitudes around us.

A slight board partition separated us from the apartment occupied by General Root, of New York, one of the commissioners of the treaty. The steamer in which we came had brought the mail, at that day a rare blessing to the distant settlements. The opening and reading of all the dispatches, which the General received about bed-time, had, of course, to be gone through with, before he could retire to rest. His eyes being weak, his secretaries were employed to read the communications. He was a little deaf withal, and through the slight division between the two apartments the contents of the letters, and his comments upon them, were unpleasantly audible, as he continually admonished his secretary to raise his voice.

“What is that, Walter? Read that over again.”

In vain we coughed and hemmed, and knocked over sundry pieces of furniture. They were too deeply interested to hear aught that passed around them, and if we had been politicians we should have had all the secrets of the working-men’s party at our disposal, out of which to have made capital.

The next morning it was still rain! rain! nothing but rain! In spite of it, however, the gentlemen would take a small boat to row to the steamer, to bring up the luggage, not the least important part of that which appertained to us, being sundry boxes of silver for paying the annuities to the Winnebagoes at the Portage.

I went out with some others of the company upon the piazza, to witness their departure. A gentleman pointed out to me Fort Howard, on a projecting point of the opposite shore, about three-quarters of a mile distant—the old barracks, the picketed inclosure, the walls, all looking quaint, and, considering their modern erection, really ancient and venerable.[16] Presently we turned our attention to the boat, which had by this time gained the middle of the river. One of the passengers was standing up in the stern, apparently giving some directions.

“That is rather a venturesome fellow,” remarked one; “if he is not careful he will lose his balance.” And at this moment we saw him actually perform a summerset backward, and disappear in the water.

“Oh!” cried I, “he will be drowned!”

The gentlemen laughed. “No, there he is; they are helping him in again.”

The course of the boat was immediately changed, and the party returned to the shore. It was not until one disembarked and came dripping and laughing towards me, that I recognized him as my own peculiar property. He was pleased to treat the matter as a joke, but I thought it rather a sad beginning of western experience.

He suffered himself to be persuaded to intrust the care of his effects to his friends, and having changed his dress, prepared to remain quietly with me, when just at this moment a vehicle drove up to the door, and we recognized the pleasant, familiar face of our old friend. Judge Doty.[17]

He had received the news of our arrival, and had come to take us at once to his hospitable mansion. We were only too happy to gather together our bags and travelling baskets, and accompany him without farther ceremony.

Our drive took us first along the edge of Navarino, next through Shanty-town (the latter a far more appropriate name than the former), amid mud and mire, over bad roads, and up and down hilly, break-neck places, until we reached the little brick dwelling of our friends. Mrs. Doty received us with such true sisterly kindness, and everything seemed so full of welcome, that we soon felt ourselves at home.

We found that, expecting our arrival, invitations had already been prepared to assemble the whole circle of Green Bay society to meet us at an evening party—this, in a new country, being the established mode of doing honor to guests or strangers.

We learned, upon inquiry, that Captain Harney,[18] who had kindly offered to come with a boat and crew of soldiers from Fort Winnebago, to convey us to that place, our destined home, had not yet arrived; we therefore felt at liberty to make arrangements for a few days of social enjoyment at “the Bay.”

It was pleasant to people, secluded in such a degree from the world at large, to hear all the news we had brought—all the particulars of life and manners—the thousand little items that the newspapers of that day did not dream of furnishing—the fashions, and that general gossip, in short, which a lady is erroneously supposed more au fait of, than a gentleman.

I well remember that, in giving and receiving information, the day passed in a pretty uninterrupted stream of communication. All the party except myself had made the journey, or rather voyage, up the Fox River and down the Wisconsin to the Mississippi.

There were plenty of anecdotes of a certain trip performed by them in company, along with a French trader and his two sisters, now making their début as western travellers. The manner in which Mademoiselle Julie would borrow, without leave, a fine damask napkin or two, to wipe out the ducks in preparation for cooking—the difficulty of persuading either of the sisters of the propriety of washing and rinsing their table apparatus nicely before packing it away in the mess-basket, the consequence of which was, that another nice napkin must be stealthily whisked out, to wipe the dishes when the hour for meals arrived—the fun of the young gentleman in hunting up his stray articles, thus misappropriated, from the nooks and corners of the boat, tying them with a cord, and hanging them over the stern, to make their way down the Wisconsin to Prairie du Chien.

Then there was a capital story of M. Rolette[19] himself. At one point on the route (I think in crossing Winnebago Lake), the travellers met one of the Company’s boats on its way to Green Bay for supplies. M. R. was one of the agents of the Company, and the people in the boat were his employés. Of course, after an absence of some weeks from home, the meeting on these lonely waters and the exchanging of news was an occasion of great excitement.

The boats were stopped—earnest greetings interchanged—question followed question.

“Eh! Bien—have they finished the new house?”

“Oui, Monsieur.”

“Et la cheminée, fume-t-elle?” (Does the chimney smoke?)

“Non, Monsieur.”

“And the harvest—how is that?”

“Very fine, indeed.”

“Is the mill at work?”

“Yes, plenty of water.”

“How is Whip?” (his favorite horse).

“Oh! Whip is first-rate.”

Everything, in short, about the store, the farm, the business of various descriptions being satisfactorily gone over, there was no occasion for farther delay. It was time to proceed.

“Eh! Men—adieu! hon voyage!”

“Arrachez—mes gens!” (Go ahead, men!)

Then suddenly—“Arrétez—arrétez!” (Stop, stop!)

“Comment se portent Madame Rolette ct les enfans?”

(How are Mrs. Rolette and the children?)

This day, with its excitement, was at length over, and we retired to our rest, thankful that we had not General Root and his secretary close to our bed’s head, with their budget of political news.

My slumbers were not destined, however, to be quite undisturbed. I was awakened, at the first slight peep of dawn by a sound from an apartment beneath our own—a plaintive, monotonous chant, rising and then falling in a sort of mournful cadence. It seemed to me a wail of something unearthly—so wild—so strange—so unaccountable. In terror I awoke my husband, who reassured me by telling me it was the morning salutation of the Indians to the opening day.

Some Menomonees had been kindly given shelter for the night in the kitchen below, and having fulfilled their unvarying custom of chanting their morning hymn, they now ceased, and again composed themselves to sleep. But not so their auditor. There was to me something inexpressibly beautiful in this morning song of praise from the untaught sons of the forest. What a lesson did it preach to the civilized, Christianized world, too many of whom lie down and rise up without an aspiration of thanksgiving to their Almighty Preserver—without even a remembrance of His care, who gives His angels charge concerning them! Never has the impression of that simple act of worship faded from my mind. I have loved to think that, with some, these strains might be the outpouring of a devotion as pure as that of the Christian when he utters the inspiring words of the sainted Ken—

“Awake, my soul! and with the sun,” etc.

Among the visitors who called to offer me a welcome to the West, were Mr. and Miss Cadle,[20] who were earnestly engaged in the first steps of their afterwards flourishing enterprise for the education of Indian and half-breed children. The school-houses and chapel were not yet erected, but we visited their proposed site, and listened with great interest to bright anticipations of the future good that was to be accomplished—the success that was to crown their efforts for taming the heathen, and teaching them the knowledge of their Saviour, and the blessings of civilized life. The sequel has shown how little the zeal of the few can accomplish, when opposed to the cupidity of the many.

Our evening party went off as parties do elsewhere. The most interesting feature to me, because the most novel, was the conversation of some young ladies to whom I was introduced, natives of Green Bay, or its vicinity. Their mother was a Me-no-mo-nee, but their father was a Frenchman, a descendant of a settler some generations back, and who, there is reason to believe, was a branch of the same family of Grignon to which the daughter of Madame de Sevigné belonged. At least, it is said there are in the possession of the family many old papers and records which would give that impression, although the orthography of the name has become slightly changed. Be that as it may, the Miss Grignons were strikingly dignified, well-bred young ladies, and there was a charm about their soft voices, and original, unsophisticated remarks, very attractive to a stranger.

They opened to me, however, a new field of apprehension; for, on my expressing my great impatience to see my new home, they exclaimed, with a look of wonder:

“Vous n’avez done pas peur des serpens?”

“Snakes! Was it possible there were snakes at Fort Winnebago?”

“At the Portage! oh! yes—one can never walk out for them—rattle-snakes—copper-heads—all sorts!”

I am not naturally timid, but I must confess that the idea of the serpens sonnettes and the siffleurs was not quite a subject of indifference.

There was one among these young ladies whose tall, graceful figure, rich, blooming complexion, and dark, glancing eye, would have distinguished her in any drawing-room—and another, whose gentle sweetness and cultivated taste made it a matter of universal regret that she was afterwards led to adopt the seclusion of a convent.[21]

Captain Harney and his boat arrived in due time, and active preparations for the comfort of our journey commenced under the kind supervision of Mrs. Doty. The mess-basket was stowed with good things of every description—ham and tongue—biscuit and plum-cake—not to mention the substantial of crackers, bread, and boiled pork, the latter of which, however, a lady was supposed to be too fastidious to think of touching, even if starving in the woods.

We had engaged three Canadian voyageurs to take charge of our tent, mess-basket, and matters and things in general. Their business it was to be to cut the wood for our fires, prepare our meals, and give a helping hand to whatever was going forward. A messenger had also been sent to the Kakalin, or rapids, twenty-one miles above, to notify Wish-tay-yun (the blacksmith), the most accomplished guide through the difficult passes of the river, to be in readiness for our service on a specified day.

In the meantime, we had leisure for one more party, and it was to be a “real western hop.” Everybody will remember that dance at Mrs. Baird’s.[22] All the people, young and old, that would be gathered throughout, or, as it was the fashion to express it, on Green Bay, were assembled. The young officers were up from Fort Howard, looking so smart in their uniforms. Treasures of finery, long uncalled forth, were now brought to light. Everybody was bound to do honor to the strangers by appearing in their very best. It was to be an entertainment unequalled by any given before. All the house was put in requisition for the occasion. Desks and seats were unceremoniously dismissed from Mr. B.'s office, which formed one wing, to afford more space for the dancers. Not only the front portion of the dwelling, but even the kitchen was made fit for the reception of company, in case any primitive visitor, as was sometimes the case, should prefer sitting down quietly there and smoking his cigar. I do not know that this was actually done, but it was an emergency that, in those days, had always to be provided for.

Nothing could exceed the mirth and hilarity of the company. No restraint, but of good manners—no excess of conventionalities—genuine, hearty good-humor and enjoyment, such as pleasant, hospitable people, with just enough of the French element to add zest to anything like amusement, could furnish, to make the entertainment agreeable. In a country so new, and where, in a social gathering the number of the company was, in a slight degree more important than the quality, the circle was not always, strictly speaking, select. For instance, the connexions of each family must be invited, even if there was something “a little peculiar” in their appearance, manners, or perhaps vocation, which might make their presence not quite desirable.

I was aware of this, and was therefore more amused than surprised when a clumsy little man, with a broad, red, laughing face, waddled across the room to where I had taken my seat after a dance, and thus addressed me:

“Miss K——, nobody hain’t never introduced you to me, but I’ve seen you a good many times, and I know your husband very well, so I thought I might just as well come and speak to you—my name is A—dt.”

“Ah! Mr. A——, good evening. I hope you are enjoying yourself. How is your sister?”

“Oh! she is a great deal worse—her cold has got into her eye, and it is all shot up.”

Then turning full upon a lady[D] who sat near, radiant with youth and beauty, sparkling with wit and genuine humor:

[D] A niece of James Fenimore Cooper.

“Oh! Mrs. Beall,”[23] he began, “what a beautiful gown you have got on, and how handsome you do look! I declare you’re the prettiest woman in the room, and dance the handsomest.”

“Indeed, Mr. A——,” replied she, suppressing her love of fun and assuming a demure look, “I am afraid you flatter me.”

“No, I don’t—I’m in earnest. I’ve just come to ask you to dance.”

Such was the penalty of being too charming. Poor A——, in a cotillion, was not the least enlivening part of this evening’s entertainment.

CHAPTER IV

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 journey up the Fox River. Capt. Harney was proposing to remain a few days longer at “the Bay,” but he called to escort us to the boat, and install 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,[24] 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 us—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 center was a framework 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 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, in a wet, broken, and dilapidated condition. 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[25] 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,[26] 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 "Col. Boilvin."[27] 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 the old gentleman, 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”[E] 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.

[E] Master—or to use the emphatic Yankee term—boss.

Their songs are of a light cheerful character, generally embodying some little satire or witticism, calculated to produce a spirited, sometimes an uproarious chorus.[28]

The song and refrain are carried on somewhat in the following style:

Bourgeois.	Par derriere chéz ma tante, Par derriere chéz ma tante,
Chorus.	Par derriere chéz ma tante, Par derriere chéz 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, &c.
Bourgeois.	Demande une femme à prendre Des pommes, des poires, des raves, des choux, &c.
Chorus.	Des pommes, des poires, &c.
Bourgeois.	Demande une femme à prendre, Demande une femme à, &c.
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 “Leve ton pied, ma jolie Bergere.”

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! réveille, réveille, réveille, Oh! réveille, Michaud est en haut![F]