FORT WINNEBAGO IN 1831.
From a sketch by Mrs. Kinzie, in original edition.
The Indians have a tradition that a vast serpent once lived in the waters of the Mississippi, and that taking a freak to visit the Great Lakes, he left his trail through the prairies, which, collecting the waters from the meadows and the rains of heaven as they fell, at length became the Fox River.
The little lakes along its course were probably the spots where he flourished about in his uneasy slumbers at night. He must have played all the antics of a kitten in the neighborhood of the Portage. When the Fort was first pointed out to me, I exclaimed with delight, “Oh, we shall be there in half an hour!”
“Not quite so soon,” said my husband, smiling. “Wait and see.” We sat and watched. We seemed approaching the very spot where we were to disembark. We could distinguish the officers and a lady on the bank waiting to receive us. Now we are turning our back on them, and shooting out into the prairie again. Anon we approach another bank, on which is a range of comfortable-looking log-houses. "That is the Agency,—the largest house belongs to Paquette, the interpreter,[[41]] and the others are the dwellings of our Frenchmen. The little building, just at the foot of the hill, is the blacksmith’s shop, kept there by the Government, that the Indians may have their guns and traps mended free of expense."
“But are we going to stop there?”
“No; do you not see we are going back to the fort?”
And, to be sure, our course was now turned, and we were setting in our first direction. In this manner, after tacking to the right and left, and putting backwards and forwards during the greater part of two hours, we at length reached the little landing, on which the assembled party stood ready to greet us.