We went to look at it. It consisted of one room, bare and dirty. A huge chimney, in which a few brands were burning, occupied nearly one side of the apartment. Against another was built a rickety sort of bunk. This was the only vestige of furniture to be seen. The floor was thickly covered with mud and dirt, in the midst of which, near the fire, was seated an old Indian with a pan of boiled corn on his lap, which he was scooping up with both hands, and devouring with the utmost voracity.
We soon discovered that he was blind. On hearing footsteps and voices, he instinctively gathered his dish of food close to him, and began some morose grumblings; but when he was told that it was “Shaw-nee-aw-kee” who was addressing him, his features relaxed into a more agreeable expression, and he even held forth his dish and invited us to share its contents.
“But are we to stay here?” I asked. “Can we not sleep out of doors?”
“We have no tent,” replied my husband, “and the weather is too cold to risk the exposure without one.”
“I could sit in a chair all night, by the fire.”
“Then you would not be able to ride to Bellefontaine to-morrow.”
There was no alternative. The only thing Mr. Knaggs could furnish in the shape of bedding was a small bearskin. The bunk was a trifle less filthy than the floor, so upon its boards we spread first the skin, then our saddle-blankets, and with a pair of saddle-bags for a bolster, I wrapped myself in my cloak, and resigned myself to my distasteful accommodations.
The change of position from that I had occupied through the day, probably brought some rest, but sleep I could not. Even on a softer and more agreeable couch, the snoring of the old Indian and two or three companions who had joined him, and his frequent querulous exclamations as he felt himself encroached upon in the darkness, would have effectually banished slumber from my eyes.
It was a relief to rise and prepare for the journey of the day. Where our fellow-travellers had bestowed themselves I knew not, but they evidently had fared no better than we. They were in fine spirits, however, and we cheerfully took our breakfast and were ferried over the river to continue on the trail from that point to Bellefontaine, twelve miles from Fort Winnebago.