“I have been told,” said one of the ladies, “that some of the Indians have a number of wives: is that so?”
“Yes,” the Doctor replied in English, “sometimes have a heap.” (The ladies all laughed.) Two or three inquired what a “heap” was? Jeffrey said, “Why, ma'am, it is what in our country means a ‘lot:’ you know what they call a ‘lot’ here?” “Oh, yes! it means a great many.” “Yes, a number.” “Well, tell the Doctor I want to know what they do with so many?”
Here the poor Doctor was quite at a loss to know what to say; one thing he was sure to do—he smiled—and it seemed as if he wished that to go for an answer: and it might have done so with most of her sex, but in this instance it was not quite satisfactory, and the question was again put: to which the big-mouthed Jim, who I said had come to the relief of his friend, and who had a wife of his own, put in an instant reply, which relieved the Doctor, and seemed very much to embarrass the lady, for she instantly added, (as all were bursting with laughter,) “That isn’t what I mean: I want to know how a chief can get along with so many, how he can manage them all, and keep them in good humour and satisfied; for,” said she, “in this country, one is quite as much as a man can manage.”
This seemed to afford the Doctor a little relief, and he was evidently able to go on again, as he smilingly said, “It was quite easy, as Indian women were much more peaceable and quiet than white women, it was much more easy he thought to manage them; they drank no chickabobboo, and therefore did not require so much watching as white women.”
The lady seemed quite balked in the debate she was about entering on with the Doctor, from her ignorance of the meaning of chickabobboo, and asked for an explanation of it, as if for all the company about; to which Jim put in (again in plain English), “Gin!” “Oh! Doctor,” said she, “I hope you don’t accuse the ladies of London of drinking gin?” The Doctor replied, that “he had not seen them do it, but that he had been told that they did, and that it was the reason why the ladies here grew so large and so fat.” He said, “that they could always look out of the windows, where he lived, and just before going to bed they could see any night a hundred women going home with pitchers full of it, to drink after they got into bed, so as to sleep sound: and that one night, coming home in their carriage at a late hour, from a distance, where they had been to see a show, he and Jim had counted more than three hundred women running along in the street, with pitchers filled with it in their hands, to drink as they were going to bed.”
The lady’s explanation of this, that “It was only harmless ale that these women were carrying in for their masters and mistresses,” excited the Doctor’s smiles, but no reply.
She seemed not satisfied yet about the first subject that she had started, and reverting to it again, said, “Well, Doctor, I can’t excuse the Indians for having so many wives. I like the Indians very much, but I don’t like that custom they have; I think it is very cruel and very wicked. Don’t you think it is wrong?”
The Doctor studied a moment, and replied, “that it might be wrong, but if it was, he didn’t see that it was any worse than for white women to have a number of husbands.” “But what, Doctor, what do you mean? I hope you have not so bad an opinion of white women as that?” To this he very coolly replied, “that when they drank a great deal of gin, he believed, from what he had seen in his practice, that a woman would require more than one husband; and that since he had been in London he had seen many walking in the streets, and some riding in fine carriages, whom he thought, from their looks, must have more than one husband: and from what he had been told, he believed that many women in London had a heap!” “That’s a lot!” (cried out a very pretty little girl, who had been listening, and, frightened at her own unintentional interpretation, started to run.)
“Come, come, Catlin,” said Melody, “pull the old fellow out, and take him away;” and so the debate ended, amidst a roar of laughter from all sides.
One more of the hundred little reminiscences of Vauxhall, and we will leave it. I have already said, that in the spacious apartments of Vauxhall, unoccupied, the Indians were quartered, and took their meals; and during the forepart of the day, between their breakfast and the hour of their afternoon exhibitions, their time was mostly spent in strolling around the grounds, or at their varied amusements. Many of my personal friends finding this a pleasing opportunity to see them, were in the habit of coming in, and amusing themselves with them. I had accidentally heard of a party of ladies preparing to come on a certain morning, some of them my esteemed friends, and others strangers to me: and from a wish to get relieved from a fatiguing conversation, as well as from a still stronger desire for amusement, I selected from my wardrobe a very splendid dress, head-gear and all complete, and fully arranged myself in Indian costume, “cap-à-pied,” with face fully painted, and weapons in hand; and at the hour of their arrival in the house, took care to be strolling about in the grounds with Wash-ka-mon-ya (Jim). Whilst the ladies were amused with the party in the house, where there were constant inquiries for me, two of them observing us two beaus sauntering about in the garden, came out to keep us company, and to talk to us, and with themselves, in the English language, which of course we Indians knew nothing of: when we shook our heads to their inquiries, “Do you speak English, good Indians?” I saw they did not recognize me, yet I trembled for fear, for they were lovely women, and every sentence almost which they uttered would have made the discovery more cruel: we held ourselves dignified and dumb; whilst they, poor things, were so much regretting that we could not understand what they said. They finished their visit to us and their remarks, and returned, leaving me to regret my folly upon which I had thoughtlessly entered.