Until now I had never seen a gentleman attired in a colored shirt, a spotless white collar and bosom being one of those “notions” that “Boston,” and consequently New England “folks,” entertained of the becoming in a gentleman’s toilette. Mrs. Cass[[25]] had laughingly forewarned me, that not only calico shirts, but patch-work pillow-cases were an indispensable part of a travelling equipment; and, thanks to the taste and skill of some tidy little Frenchwoman, I found our divan pillows all accommodated in the brightest and most variegated garb.
The Judge and my husband were gay with the deepest of blue and pink. Each was prepared, besides, with a bright red cap (a bonnet rouge, or tuque, as the voyageurs call it), which, out of respect for the lady, was to be donned only when a hearty dinner, a dull book, or the want of exercise made an afternoon nap indispensable.
The Judge was an admirable travelling companion. He had lived many years in the country, had been with General Cass on his expedition to the head waters of the Mississippi, and had a vast fund of anecdote regarding early times, customs, and inhabitants.
Some instances of the mode of administering justice in those days, I happen to recall.
There was an old Frenchman at “the Bay,” named Réaume,[[26]] excessively ignorant and grasping, although otherwise tolerably good-natured. This man was appointed justice of the peace. Two men once appeared before him, the one as plaintiff, the other as defendant. The justice listened patiently to the complaint of the one, and the defence of the other; then rising, with dignity, he pronounced his decision:
“You are both wrong. You, Bois-vert,” to the plaintiff, “you bring me one load of hay; and you, Crély,” to the defendant, “you bring me one load of wood; and now the matter is settled.” It does not appear that any exceptions were taken to this verdict.
This anecdote led to another, the scene of which was Prairie du Chien, on the Mississippi.
There was a Frenchman, a justice of the peace, who was universally known by the name of "Col. Boilvin."[[27]] His office was just without the walls of the fort, and it was much the fashion among the officers to lounge in there of a morning, to find sport for an idle hour, and to take a glass of brandy-and-water with the old gentleman, which he called “taking a little quelque-chose.”
A soldier, named Fry, had been accused of stealing and killing a calf belonging to M. Rolette, and the constable, a bricklayer of the name of Bell, had been dispatched to arrest the culprit and bring him to trial.
While the gentlemen were making their customary morning visit to the justice, a noise was heard in the entry, and a knock at the door.