“Some say she is dead, and some say she is gone away. I guess she is dead, and buried up in one of those graves yonder”—pointing to two or three little picketed inclosures upon a rising ground opposite the window.
I felt a strong sympathy with the child, which was increased when the little spokeswoman, in answer to my inquiry, “Has he no father?” replied—
“Oh, yes, but he goes away, and drinks, and don’t care for his children.”
“And what becomes of John, then?”
“He stays here with us, and we teach him to read, and he learns dreadful fast.”
When the boy at length turned his large dark eyes upon me, it went to my heart. It was such a motherless look. And it was explained, when long afterward, I learned his further history. His mother was still living, and he knew it, although with the reserve peculiar to his people, he never spoke of her to his young companions. Unable to endure the continued ill-treatment of her husband, a surly, intemperate Canadian, she had left him, and returned to his family among the Pottowattamies. Years after, this boy and a brother who had also been left behind with their father found their way to the Upper Missouri, to join their mother, who, with the others of her tribe, had been removed by the Government from the shores of Lake Michigan.
A most savoury supper of ducks and venison, with their accompaniments, soon smoked upon the board, and we did ample justice to it. Travelling is a great sharpener of the appetite, and so is cheerfulness, and the latter was increased by the encouraging account Mr. Dixon gave us of the remainder of the route yet before us.
“There is no difficulty,” said he, “if you keep a little to the north, and strike the great Sauk trail. If you get too far to the south, you will come upon the Winnebago Swamp, and once in that, there is no telling when you will ever get out again. As for the distance, it is nothing at all to speak of. Two young men came out here from Chicago, on foot, last fall. They got here the evening of the second day; and even with a lady in your party, you could go on horseback in less time than that. The only thing is to be sure and get on the great track that the Sauks have made in going every year from the Mississippi to Canada, to receive their presents from the British Indian Agent.”
The following morning, which was a bright and lovely one for that season of the year, we took leave of Mr. and Mrs. Dixon, in high spirits. We travelled for the first few miles along the beautiful, undulating banks of the Rock River, always in an easterly direction, keeping the beaten path, or rather road, which led to Fort Clark, or Peoria. The Sauk trail,[[61]] we had been told, would cross this road, at the distance of about six miles.
After having travelled, as we judged, fully that distance, we came upon a trail, bearing north-east, and a consultation was held as to the probability of its being the one we were in search of.