The inhabitants, who had witnessed our approach from a distance, were all assembled in front of their wigwams to greet us, if friends—if otherwise, whatever the occasion should demand. It was the first time such a spectacle had ever presented itself to their wondering eyes. Their salutations were not less cordial than we expected. “Shaw-nee-aw-kee” and his mother, who was known throughout the tribe by the touching appellation “Our friend’s wife,” were welcomed most kindly, and an animated conversation commenced, which I could understand only so far as it was conveyed by gestures—so I amused myself by taking a minute survey of all that met my view.
The chief was a large, raw-boned, ugly Indian, with a countenance bloated by intemperance, and with a sinister, unpleasant expression. He had a gay-colored handkerchief upon his head, and was otherwise attired in his best, in compliment to the strangers.
It was to this chief that Chambly, or as he is now called Shau-bee-nay, Billy Caldwell and Robinson were despatched, during the Winnebago war, in 1827, to use their earnest endeavors to prevent him and his band from joining the hostile Indians.[[78]] With some difficulty they succeeded, and were thus the means, doubtless, of saving the lives of all the settlers who lived exposed upon the frontier.
Among the various groups of his people, there was none attracted my attention so forcibly as a young man of handsome face, and a figure that was striking, even where all were fine and symmetrical. He too had a gay handkerchief on his head, a shirt of the brightest lemon-colored calico, an abundance of silver ornaments, and, what gave his dress a most fanciful appearance, one leggin of blue, and the other of bright scarlet. I was not ignorant that this peculiar feature in his toilette indicated a heart suffering from the tender passion. The flute, which he carried in his hand, added confirmation to the fact, while the joyous, animated expression of his countenance showed with equal plainness that he was not a despairing lover.
I could have imagined him to have recently returned from the chase, laden with booty, with which he had, as is the custom, entered the lodge of the fair one, and throwing his burden at the feet of her parents, with an indifferent, superb sort of air, as much as to say, “Here is some meat—it is a mere trifle, but it will show you what you might expect with me for a son-in-law.” I could not doubt that the damsel had stepped forward and gathered it up, in token that she accepted the offering, and the donor along with it. There was nothing in the appearance or manner of any of the maidens by whom we were surrounded to denote which was the happy fair, neither, although I peered anxiously into all their countenances, could I there detect any blush of consciousness, so I was obliged to content myself with selecting the youngest and prettiest of the group, and go on weaving my romance to my own satisfaction.
The village stood encircled by an amphitheatre of hills, so precipitous, and with gorges so steep and narrow, that it seemed almost impossible to scale them, even on horseback—how then could we hope to accomplish the ascent of the four-wheeled carriage? This was the point now under discussion between my husband and the Pottowattamies. There was no choice but to make the effort, selecting the pass that the inhabitants pointed out as the most practicable. Petaille went first, and I followed on my favorite Jerry. It was such a scramble as is not often taken. Almost perpendicularly, through what seemed the dry bed of a torrent, now filled with loose stones, and scarcely affording one secure foothold from the bottom to the summit! I clung fast to the mane, literally at times clasping Jerry around his neck, and amid the encouraging shouts and cheers of those below, we at length arrived safely, though nearly breathless, on the pinnacle, and sat looking down, to view the success of the next party.
The horses had been taken from the carriage, and the luggage it contained placed upon the shoulders of some of the young Indians, to be toted up the steep. Ropes were now attached to its sides, and a regular bevy of our red friends, headed by our two Frenchmen, placed to man them. Two or three more took their places in the rear, to hold the vehicle and keep it from slipping backwards—then the labor commenced. Such a pulling! such a shouting! such a clapping of hands by the spectators of both sexes! such a stentorian word of command or encouragement from the bourgeois! Now and then there would be a slight halt, a wavering, as if carriage and men were about to tumble backwards into the plain below—but no—they recovered themselves, and after incredible efforts they, too, safely gained the table land above. In process of time all were landed there, and having remunerated our friends to their satisfaction, the goods and chattels were collected, the wagon repacked, and we set off for our encampment at Turtle Creek.[[79]]
