The announcement, at length, that “the boats were in sight,” was a thrilling and most joyful sound.
Hundreds of poor creatures were at once assembled on the bank, watching their arrival. Oh! how torturing was their slow approach, by the winding course of the river, through the extended prairie! As the first boat touched the bank, we, who were gazing on the scene with anxiety and impatience only equalled by that of the sufferers, could scarcely refrain from laughing, to see old Wild-Cat, who had somewhat fallen off in his huge amount of flesh, seize “the Washington Woman” in his arms, and hug and dance with her in the ecstasy of his delight.
Their father made a sign to them all to fall to work with their hatchets, which they had long held ready, and in an incredibly short time, barrel after barrel was broken open and emptied, while even the little children possessed themselves of pans and kettles full, and hastened to the fires that were blazing around to parch and cook that which they had seized.
From this time forward, there was no more destitution. The present abundance was followed by the arrival of supplies for the Commissary’s Department; and refreshed and invigorated, our poor children departed once more to their villages, to make ready their crops for the ensuing season.
In the course of the spring, we received a visit from the Rev. Mr. Kent, and Mrs. Kent, of Galena.[[127]] This event is memorable, as being the first occasion on which the Gospel, according to the Protestant faith, was preached at Fort Winnebago. The large parlor of the hospital was fitted up for the service, and gladly did we each say to the other, “Let us go to the house of the Lord!”
For nearly three years had we lived here without the blessing of a public service of praise and thanksgiving. We regarded this commencement as an omen of better times, and our little “sewing society” worked with renewed industry, to raise a fund which might be available hereafter, in securing the permanent services of a missionary.
Not long after this, on a fine spring morning, as we were seated at breakfast, a party of Indians entered the parlor, and came to the door of the room where we were. Two of them passed through, and went out upon a small portico—the third remained standing in the door-way at which he had at first appeared. He was nearly opposite me, and as I raised my eyes, spite of his change of dress, and the paint with which he was covered, I at once recognized him.
I continued to pour the coffee, and as I did so, I remarked to my husband, “The one behind you, with whom you are speaking, is one of the escaped prisoners.”