“So you may súppose I was all de day perplex to know how I should go, somebody may watch—súppose, he may not be dead! not quite dead, ha? nevare mind—le jour was bien long, et le nuit dismal, dismal! oh by gar it was dismal! plien, plien (pardon) full of apprehension, mais sans peur, je navais pas peur! So some time aftere midnights, wen it was bout right time pour go, I made start, very light, so my wife must not wake. Oh diable l’imagination! quel solitude! well, I have go very well yet, I am pass de door, and I am pass de gate, and I am at lengts arrive at de grave! súppose ‘now Ba’tiste, courage, courage! now is de times come.’ Well, suppose, I am not fraid of dead man, mais, perhaps, dese medicine-bag is give by de Grande Esprit to de Ingin for someting? possibe! I will let him keep it. I shall go back! No, Monsieur Cataline will laughs at me. I must have him, ma foi, mon courage! so I climb down very careful into de grave, mais, as I déscend, my heart rise up into my mouse! Oh mon Dieu! courage Ba’tiste, courage! ce n’est pas l’homme dat I fear, mais le medicine, le medicine. So den I ave lift out de large stones, I ave put out my head in de dark, and I ave look all de contré round; ne personne, ne personne—no bodé in sight! Well, I ave got softly down on my knees ovare him, (oh, courage! courage! oui) and wen I ave unwrap de robe, I av all de time say, ‘pardon, courage! pardon, courage! untill I ad got de skins all off de bodé; I ave den take hold of de cord to untie, mais!! (dans l’instant) two cold hands seize me by de wrists! and I was just dead—I was petrifact in one instant. Oh St. Esprit! I could just see in de dark two eyes glaring like fire sur upon me! and den, (oh, eugh!) it spoke to me, ‘Who are you?’ (Sacré, vengeance! it will not do to deceive him, no,) ‘I am Ba’tiste, poor Ba’tiste!’ ‘Then thou art surely mine, (as he clenched both arms tight around my boday) lie still Ba’tiste.’ Oh, holy Vierge! St. Esprit! O mon Dieu! I could not breathe! miserable! je sui perdu! oh pourquoi have I been such fool to get into dese cold, cold arms! ‘Ba’tiste? (drawing me some tighter and tighter!) do you not belong to me, Ba’tiste?’ Yes, súppose! oh diable! belong? Oui, oui, je suis certainment perdu, lost, lost, for evare! Oh! can you not possibe let me go? ‘No, Ba’tiste, we must never part.’ Grand Dieu! c’est finis, finis, finis avec moi! “Then you do not love me any more, Ba’tiste?” Quel! quoi! what!! est ce vous, Wee-ne-on-ka? ‘Yes, Ba’tiste, it is the Bending Willow who holds you, she that loves you and will not let you go? Are you dreaming Ba’tiste?’ Oui, diable, ———!”
“Well, Ba’tiste, that’s a very good story, and very well told; I presume you never tried again to get a medicine-bag?”
“Non, Monsieur Bogard, je vous assure, I was satisfy wis de mistakes dat night, pour for je crois qu’il fut l’Esprit, le Grand Esprit.”
After this, my entertaining companions sung several amusing songs, and then called upon me for another story. Which Mr. Wood had already heard me tell several times, and which he particularly called for; as
“THE STORY OF THE DOG,”
and which I began as follows:—
“Well, some time ago, when I was drifting down the mighty Missouri, in a little canoe, with two hired men, Bogard and Ba’tiste, (and in this manner did we glide along) amid all the pretty scenes and ugly, that decked the banks of that river, from the mouth of the Yellow Stone, to St. Louis, a distance of only two thousand miles; Bogard and Ba’tiste plied their paddles and I steered, amid snag and sand-bar—amongst drift logs and herds of swimming buffaloes—our beds were uniformly on the grass, or upon some barren beach, which we often chose, to avoid the suffocating clouds of musquitoes; our fire was (by the way we had none at night) kindled at sundown, under some towering bluff—our supper cooked and eaten, and we off again, floating some four or five miles after nightfall, when our canoe was landed at random, on some unknown shore. In whispering silence and darkness our buffalo robes were drawn out and spread upon the grass, and our bodies stretched upon them; our pistols were belted to our sides, and our rifles always slept in our arms. In this way we were encamped, and another robe drawn over us, head and foot, under which our iron slumbers were secure from the tread of all foes saving that of the sneaking gangs of wolves, who were nightly serenading us with their harmonics, and often quarrelling for the privilege of chewing off the corners of the robe, which served us as a blanket. ‘Caleb’ (the grizzly bear) was often there too, leaving the print of his deep impressed footsteps where he had perambulated, reconnoitring, though not disturbing us. Our food was simply buffalo meat from day to day, and from morning till night, for coffee and bread we had not. The fleece (hump) of a fat cow, was the luxury of luxuries; and for it we would step ashore, or as often level our rifles upon the ‘slickest’ of the herds from our canoe, as they were grazing upon the banks. Sometimes the antelope, the mountain-sheep, and so the stately elk contributed the choicest cuts for our little larder; and at others, while in the vicinity of war-parties, where we dared not to fire our guns, our boat, was silently steered into some little cove or eddy, our hook and line dipped, and we trusted to the bite of a catfish for our suppers: if we got him, he was sometimes too large and tough; and if we got him not, we would swear, (not at all) and go to bed.
“Our meals were generally cooked and eaten on piles of driftwood, where our fire was easily kindled, and a peeled log (which we generally straddled) did admirably well for a seat, and a table to eat from.
“In this manner did we glide away from day to day, with anecdote and fun to shorten the time, and just enough of the spice of danger to give vigour to our stomachs, and keenness to our appetites—making and meeting accident and incident sufficient for a ‘book.’ Two hundred miles from the mouth of Yellow Stone brought us to the village of the kind and gentlemanly Mandans. With them I lived for some time—was welcomed—taken gracefully by the arm, by their plumed dignitaries, and feasted in their hospitable lodges. Much have I already said of these people, and more of them, a great deal, I may say at a future day; but now, to our ‘story.’ As preamble, however, having launched our light canoe at the Mandan village, shook hands with the chiefs and braves, and took the everlasting farewell glance at those models, which I wept to turn from; we dipped our paddles, and were again gliding off upon the mighty water, on our way to St. Louis. We travelled fast, and just as the village of the Mandans, and the bold promontory on which it stands, were changing to blue, and ‘dwindling into nothing,’ we heard the startling yells, and saw in distance behind us, the troop that was gaining upon us! their red shoulders were bounding over the grassy bluffs—their hands extended, and robes waving with signals for us to stop! In a few moments they were opposite to us on the bank, and I steered my boat to the shore. They were arranged for my reception, with amazement and orders imperative stamped on every brow. ‘Mi-neek-e-sunk-te-ka’ (the mink), they exclaimed, ‘is dying! the picture which you made of her is too much like her—you put so much of her into it, that when your boat took it away from our village, it drew a part of her life away with it—she is bleeding from her mouth—she is puking up all her blood; by taking that away, you are drawing the strings out of her heart, and they will soon break; we must take her picture back, and then she will get well—your medicine is great, it is too great; but we wish you well.’ Mr. Kipp, their Trader, came with the party, and interpreted as above. I unrolled my bundle of portraits, and though I was unwilling to part with it (for she was a beautiful girl), yet I placed it in their hands, telling them that I wished her well; and I was exceedingly glad to get my boat peaceably under way again, and into the current, having taken another and everlasting shake of the hands. They rode back at full speed with the portrait; but intelligence which I have since received from there, informs me that the girl died; and that I am for ever to be considered as the cause of her misfortunes. This is not the ‘story,’ however, but I will tell it as soon as I can come to it. We dropped off, and down the rolling current again, from day to day, until at length the curling smoke of the Riccarees announced their village in view before us!
“We trembled and quaked, for all boats not stoutly armed, steal by them in the dead of night. We muffled our paddles, and instantly dropped under some willows, where we listened to the yelping, barking rabble, until sable night had drawn her curtain around (though it was not sable, for the moon arose, to our great mortification and alarm, in full splendour and brightness), when, at eleven o’clock, we put out to the middle of the stream—silenced our paddles, and trusted to the current to waft us by them. We lay close in our boat with a pile of green bushes over us, making us nothing in the world but a ‘floating tree-top.’ On the bank, in front of the village, was enacting at that moment, a scene of the most frightful and thrilling nature. An hundred torches were swung about in all directions, giving us a full view of the group that were assembled, and some fresh scalps were hung on poles, and were then going through the nightly ceremony that is performed about them for a certain number of nights, composed of the frightful and appalling shrieks, and yells, and gesticulations of the scalp-dance.[31]