BIG FOOT’S VILLAGE AND LAKE.
From sketch by Mrs. Kinzie, in original edition.
The exertions and excitement of our laborious ascent, together with the increasing heat of the sun, made this afternoon’s ride more uncomfortable than anything we had previously felt. We were truly rejoiced when the “whoop” of our guide, and the sight of a few scattered lodges, gave notice that we had reached our encamping ground. We chose a beautiful sequestered spot, by the side of a clear, sparkling stream, and having dismounted, and seen that our horses were made comfortable, my husband, after giving his directions to his men, led me to a retired spot where I could lay aside my hat and mask, and bathe my flushed face and aching head in the cool, refreshing waters. Never had I felt anything so grateful, so delicious. I sat down, and leaned my head against one of the tall, overshadowing trees, and was almost dreaming, when summoned to partake of our evening meal.
The Indians had brought us, as a present, some fine brook trout, which our Frenchmen had prepared in the most tempting fashion, and before the bright moon rose and we were ready for our rest, all headache and fatigue had alike disappeared.
One of the most charming features of this mode of travelling is the joyous, vocal life of the forest at early dawn, when all the feathered tribe come forth to pay their cheerful salutations to the opening day.
The rapid, chattering flourish of the bob-o'-link, the soft whistle of the thrush, the tender coo of the wood-dove, the deep warbling bass of the grouse, the drumming of the partridge, the melodious trill of the lark, the gay carol of the robin, the friendly, familiar call of the duck and the teal, resound from tree and knoll and lowland, prompting the expressive exclamation of the simple half-breed,
“Voila la fort qui parle!”[AR]
[AR] How the woods talk!
It seems as if man must involuntarily raise his voice, to take part in the general chorus—the matin song of praise.