The hour for the exhibition arriving, the conversation about Paris morals and religion was broken suddenly off, and perhaps at a good time. There were great crowds now daily attending their amusements, and generally applauding enthusiastically, and making the Indians occasional presents. On this occasion the Doctor had made a tremendous boast in the part he was taking in the eagle-dance, for the spirit of which the audience, and particularly the ladies, gave him a great deal of applause, so much so that at the end of the dance his vanity called him out in an off-hand speech about the beauty of the city, &c., and, it being less energetic than the boasts he had just been strutting out, failed to draw forth the applause he was so confidently depending on. He tried sentence after sentence, and, stopping to listen, all were silent. This perplexed and disappointed the Doctor very much, and still he went on, and at length stopped and sat down, admired, but not applauded. His friend Jim was laughing at him as he took his seat, and telling him that if he had barked like a little dog the ladies would have been sure to applaud. To this the Doctor said, “You had better try yourself:” upon which the daring Jim, who professed never to refuse any challenge, sprang upon his feet, and, advancing to the edge of the platform, stood braced out with his brows knitting, and his eyes “in a frenzy rolling,” for full two minutes before he began. He then thrust his lance forward in his right hand as far as he could dart it over the heads of the audience, and, coming back to his balance again, he commenced. Of his speech no report was made, but it was short and confined to three or four brief sentences, at the end of which he looked around with the most doleful expression to catch the applause, but there was none. The old Doctor was watching him close, and telling him he had better sit down.
In this dilemma he was still standing after all his good ideas had been spent, and each instant, as he continued to stand, making his case worse, he turned upon his heel, and as he was turning around he added, in an irritated manner, this amusing sentence: “You had better go and see the industrious fleas, and then you will applaud!” This made a great laugh amongst the Indians, but of course it was not translated to the audience. He then took his seat, looking exceedingly sober, and, with his pipe, was soon almost lost sight of in the columns of smoke that were rising around him.
About this time a very friendly invitation had been given them and us by Colonel Thorn, an American gentleman of great wealth residing in Paris, and all were anticipating much pleasure on the occasion when we were to dine at his house; but, unluckily for the happiness and enjoyment of the whole party, on the morning of the day of our invitation the wife of the Little Wolf suddenly and unexpectedly died. Our engagement to dine was of course broken, and our exhibition and amusements for some days delayed. This sad occurrence threw the party into great distress, but they met the kindness of many sympathising friends, who administered in many ways to their comfort, and joined in attending the poor woman’s remains to the grave. Her disease was the consumption of the lungs, and her decline had been rapid, though her death at that time was unexpected. When it was discovered that her symptoms were alarming, a Catholic priest was called in, and she received the baptism a few moments before she breathed her last. Through the kindness of the excellent Curé of the Madeleine church, her remains were taken into that splendid temple, and the funeral rites performed over them according to the rules of that church, in the presence of some hundreds who were led there by sympathy and curiosity, and from thence her body was taken to the cemetery of Montmartre, and interred. The poor heartbroken noble fellow, the Little Wolf, shed the tears of bitterest sorrow to see her, from necessity, laid amongst the rows of the dead in a foreign land; and on every day that he afterwards spent in Paris he ordered a cab to take him to the grave, that he could cry over it, and talk to the departed spirit of his wife, as he was leaving some little offering he had brought with him. This was the second time we had seen him in grief; and we, who had been by him in all his misfortunes, admired the deep affection he showed for his little boy, and now for its mother, and at the same time the manly fortitude with which he met the fate that had been decreed to him. On this sad occasion their good friend M. Vattemare showed his kind sympathy for them, and took upon himself the whole arrangements of her funeral, and did all that was in his power to console and soothe the brokenhearted husband in the time of his affliction. He also proposed to have a suitable and appropriate monument erected over her grave, and for its accomplishment procured a considerable sum by subscription, with which, I presume, the monument has, ere this, been erected over her remains. The Little Wolf insisted on it that the exhibition should proceed, as the daily expenses were so very great, and in a few days, to give it all the interest it could have, resumed his part in the dance that he had taken before his misfortune.
Owing to letters received about this time from their tribe, and the misfortune that had happened, the Indians were now all getting anxious to start for their own country, and, holding a council on the subject, called Mr. Melody in, and informed him that they had resolved to sleep but six nights more in Paris, and that they should expect him to be ready to start with them after that time. This was a short notice for us, but was according to Indian modes, and there was no way but to conform to it. Mr. Melody had pledged his word to the Government to take care of these people, and to return to their country with them whenever the chiefs should desire it; and I was bound, from my deep interest for them, to assent to whatever regulations Mr. Melody and the chiefs should adopt as the best.
This notice came at a time when it was unexpected by me, and I think not anticipated by Mr. Melody, and was therefore unfortunate for us, and probably somewhat, though less so, to them. The very heavy outlays had all been made for their exhibitions, and their audiences were daily increasing. If their exhibitions could have been continued a month or two longer, the avails would have been considerable, and of great service to Mr. Melody, who had the heavy responsibility on his shoulders of taking these people back to their country at his own expense.
The closing of their amusements, and positive time of their departure, was now announced, and immense crowds came in within the remaining few days to get the last possible glance at the faces and the curious modes of “les Peaux Rouges.” The poor fellows enjoyed their interviews with the public to the last, and also their roast beef and beef-steaks and chickabobboo.
They had much to say in the few days that were left; they quitted their daily drives and sight-seeing, and devoted their time to the pipe and conversation, in a sort of recapitulation of what they had seen and said and done on this side of the Atlantic, and of friends and affairs in their own humble villages, where their thoughts were now roaming. They were counting their cash also, packing away all their things they were to carry, and looking out for the little presents they wished to purchase, to take home to their friends. In all of these occupations they had the constant attention of their old and faithful friends Bobasheela and Daniel.
In one of their conversations after the funeral of the poor woman, the Doctor and Jim had much to say of the honours paid to her remains by the French people, which the whole party would recollect as long as they lived. They were pleased with and astonished at the beauty and magnificence of the Madeleine church, and wished to get some account of it to carry home to show their people, and thus, besides several engravings of it, Jim’s book carried the following entry by my own hand:—“La Madeleine, the most splendid temple of worship in Paris, or perhaps in the world; surrounded with 52 Corinthian columns, 60 feet high; south pediment, a bas-relief, representing the Day of Judgment, with the figure of Magdalene at the feet of Christ.”
As the party were to embark at Havre on their homeward voyage, it became a question how they were to get their numerous trunks and boxes they had left in London, filled with clothes and other articles that they had purchased or received as presents while in England. To relieve them of this difficulty, their friend Bobasheela volunteered to go to London and take all their boxes to Liverpool, and ship them to New York, and was soon on the way. This was a noble and kind act on the part of Bobasheela, and it was done with despatch, and he was back in Paris just in time to accompany his friends to Havre. M. Vattemare was in readiness to attend them also; and all their transactions in Paris being brought to a close, and they having taken leave of Chippehola and other friends, started for their native land, with my highest admiration for the sober and respectful manner in which they had conducted themselves while under my direction, and with my most ardent desire for their future success and happiness.[41]
Here was about the period at which my dear wife and I had contemplated our return, with our little children, to our native land, where we should have returned in the enjoyment of all the happiness we had anticipated or could have wished, but for the misfortune that had been for some time awaiting me, but not until then duly appreciated, in my own house. Those of my readers who were not familiar with the completeness of my domestic happiness prior to this period of my life, will scarcely know how to sympathize with me, or perhaps to excuse me for adverting to it here. My dear Clara, whom I have introduced to the reader before, who shared with me many of the toils and pleasures of the prairies of the “Far West,” and was now meeting with me the mutual enjoyments of the refined and splendid world, had, a few weeks before, in company with a couple of English ladies of her acquaintance, paid a visit to the Mint, from which they all returned indisposed, having taken severe colds by a sudden change from the heated rooms into the chilly atmosphere of the streets. With my dear wife, who was obliged to retire to her room, the disease was discovered in a few days to have attached to her lungs; and although for several weeks she had been suffering very much, and confined to her bed, no serious apprehensions were entertained until about the time that the Indians left, when my whole thoughts and attentions were turned to her, but to discover in a few days that our plans for further mutual happiness in this world were at an end—that her days were nearly numbered, and that her four dear little children were to be committed to my sole care.