Robert Kinzie, Medard Beaubien, and Billy Caldwell had gone at the same time to the Calumet to hunt, and as they did not make their appearance for many days, we were persuaded they had perished with cold. They returned at length, however, to our infinite joy, having only escaped freezing by the forethought of Robert and Caldwell, in carrying each two blankets instead of one.
Our only recreation was an occasional ride on horseback when the weather would permit, through the woods on the north side of the river, or across the prairie, along the lake shore on the south.
When we went in the former direction, a little bridle-path took us along what is now Rush street. The thick boughs of the trees arched over our heads, and we were often compelled, as we rode, to break away the projecting branches of the shrubs which impeded our path. The little prairie west of Wright’s Woods was the usual termination of our ride in this direction.
When we chose the path across the prairie towards the south, we generally passed Dr. Harmon, superintending the construction of a sod fence, at a spot he had chosen, near the shore of the lake. In this inclosure he occupied himself, as the season advanced, in planting fruit stones of all descriptions, to make ready a garden and orchard for future enjoyment.
We usually stopped to have a little chat. The two favorite themes of the Doctor were horticulture, and the certain future importance of Chicago. That it was destined to be a great city, was his unalterable conviction; and indeed, by this time, all forest and prairie as it was, we half began to believe it ourselves.
On the pleasant afternoons which we occasionally enjoyed as the season advanced, we found no small amusement in practising pistol-firing. The place appropriated to this sport was outside the pickets, the mark being placed on a panel in one of the bastions. The gentlemen must not be offended if I record that, in process of time, the ladies acquired a degree of skill that enabled them, as a general thing, to come off triumphant. One of the ladies was a great shot, having brought down her grouse on the wing, to the no small delight of Captain Scott[[73]]—with regard to the others I am afraid it was more politeness than want of skill, which induced the gentlemen to yield the palm to them.
Now and then there was a little excitement within the fort, aroused by the discovery that a settler had been engaged in selling milk-punch, instead of milk, to the soldiers, thereby interfering in no small degree with the regularity and perfect discipline of the service. The first step was to “drum out” the offender with all the honors of war—that is, with a party-colored dress, and the Rogue’s March played behind him. The next, to place all the victims of this piece of deception in the guard-house, where the Commanding Officer’s lady supplied them bountifully with coffee and hot cakes, by way of opening their eyes to the enormity of their offence. It was not to be wondered at that the officers sometimes complained of its being more of a strife with the soldiers who should get into the guard-house, than who should keep out of it. The poor fellows knew when they were well off.
Once, upon a Sunday, we were rowed up to “the point” to attend a religious service, conducted by Father S——, as he was called.
We saw a tall, slender man, dressed in a green frock coat, from the sleeves of which dangled a pair of hands giving abundant evidence, together with the rest of his dress, that he placed small faith in the axiom—“cleanliness is a part of holiness.”
He stepped briskly upon a little platform behind a table, and commenced his discourse. His subject was, “The fear of God.”