Chapter XI: Part 11

On our way we were notified at several of their villages which we passed, that we must go back; but we proceeded on, and over a beautiful prairie country, of one hundred miles or more, when our Indian guide brought us to the trading-house of an old acquaintance of mine, Monsieur La Fromboise, who lives very comfortably, and in the employment of the American Fur Company, near the base of the Côteau, and forty or fifty miles from the Pipe Stone Quarry.

We rode up unexpectedly, and at full gallop, to his door, when he met us and addressed us as follows:—

“Ha! Monsr. how do you do?—Quoi! ha, est ce vous, Monsr. Cataline—est il possible? Oui, oui, vraiment le meme—mon ami, Cataline—comment se va-t-il? et combien (pardon me though, for I can speak English). How have you been since I saw you last season? and how under Heaven, have you wandered into this wild region, so far from civilization? Dismount, dismount, gentlemen, and you are welcome to the comforts, such as they are, of my little cabin.”

“Monsr. La Fromboise, allow me to introduce to your acquaintance, my friend, and travelling companion, Mr. Wood, of England.”

“Monsr. Wood, I am happy to see you, and I hope you will make allowance for the rudeness of my cabin, and the humble manner in which I shall entertain you.”

“I assure you, my dear sir, that no apology is necessary; for your house looks as delightful as a palace, to Mr. Catlin and myself, who have so long been tenants of the open air.”

“Gentlemen, walk in; we are surrounded with red folks here, and you will be looked upon by them with great surprise.”

“That’s what we want to see exactly. Catlin! that’s fine—oh! how lucky we are.”

“Well, gentlemen, walk into the other room; you see I have two rooms to my house (or rather cabin), but they are small and unhandy. Such as I have shall be at your service heartily; and I assure you, gentlemen, that this is the happiest moment of my life. I cannot give you feather-beds to sleep on; but I have a plenty of new robes, and you, at all events, Monsr. Cataline, know by this time how to make a bed of them. We can give you plenty of buffalo meat, buffalo tongues, wild geese, ducks, prairie hens, venison, trout, young swan, beaver tails, pigeons, plums, grapes, young bear, some green corn, squash, onions, water-melons, and pommes des terres, some coffee and some tea.”

“My good friend, one-half or one-third of these things (which are all luxuries to us) would render us happy; put yourself to no trouble on our account, and we shall be perfectly happy under your roof.”

“I am very sorry, gentlemen, that I cannot treat you as I would be glad to do; but you must make up for these things if you are fond of sporting, for there are plenty of buffaloes about; at a little distance the prairies are speckled with them; and our prairies and lakes abound with myriads of prairie hens, ducks, geese and swan. You shall make me a long visit, gentlemen, and we will have sport in abundance. I assure you, that I shall be perfectly happy whilst you are with me. Pardon me a little, while I order you some dinner, and attend to some Indians who are in my store, trading, and taking their fall credits.”

“That’s a fine fellow I’ll engage you,” said my companion.

“Yes, he is all that. I have known him before; he is a gentleman, and a polished one too, every ounce of him. You see in this instance how durable and lasting are the manners of a true gentleman, and how little a life-time of immersion in the wilderness, amid the reckless customs of savage life, will extinguish or efface them. I could name you a number of such, whose surface seems covered with a dross, which once rubbed of, shows a polish brighter than ever.”

We spent a day or two very pleasantly with this fine and hospitable fellow, until we had rested from the fatigue of our journey; when he very kindly joined us with fresh horses, and piloted us to the Pipe Stone Quarry, where he is now encamped with us, a jolly companionable man, and familiar with most of the events and traditions of this strange place, which he has visited on former occasions.[30]

La Fromboise has some good Indian blood in his veins, and from his modes of life, as well as from a natural passion that seems to belong to the French adventurers in these wild regions, he has a great relish for songs and stories, of which he gives us many, and much pleasure; and furnishes us one of the most amusing and gentlemanly companions that could possibly be found. My friend Wood sings delightfully, also, and as I cannot sing, but can tell, now and then, a story, with tolerable effect, we manage to pass away our evenings, in our humble bivouack, over our buffalo meat and prairie hens, with much fun and amusement. In these nocturnal amusements, I have done _my_ part, by relating anecdotes of my travels on the Missouri, and other parts of the Indian country which I have been over; and occasionally reading from my note-book some of the amusing entries I had formerly made in it, but never have had time to transcribe for the world.

As I can’t write music, and _can_ (in my own way) write a story, the readers will acquit me of egotism or partiality, in reporting only _my own part_ of the entertainments; which was generally the mere reading a story or two from my notes which I have with me, or relating some of the incidents of life which my old travelling companion “_Batiste_” and I had witnessed in former years.

Of these, I read one last evening, that pleased my good friend La Fromboise so exceedingly, that I am constrained to copy it into my Letter and send it home.

This amusing story is one that my man Ba’tiste used to tell to Bogard, and others with great zest; describing his adventure one night, in endeavouring to procure a _medicine-bag_, which I had employed him to obtain for me on the Upper Missouri; and he used to prelude it thus:—

“Je commence—”

“Dam your commonce, (said Bogard), tell it in English—”

“Pardón, Monsieur, en Americaine—”

“Well, American then, if you please; anything but your darned ‘_parlez vous_.’”

“Bien, excusez—now Monsieur Bogard, you must know first place, de ‘_Medicine-Bags_’ is mere humbug, he is no _medicine_ in him—no pills; he is someting mysterieux. Some witchcraft, súppose. You must know que tous les sauvages have such tings about him, pour for good luck. Ce n’est que (pardón) it is only _hocus pocus_, to keep off witch, súppose. You must know ces articles can nevare be sold, of course you see dey cannot be buy. So my friend here, Monsieur Cataline, who have collect all de curiosités des pays sauvages, avait made strong applique to me pour for to get one of dese _medicine-bags_ for his Collection curieux, et I had, pour moimeme, le curiosité extreme pour for to see des quelques choses ces étranges looking tings was composi.

I had learn much of dese strange custom, and I know wen de Ingin die, his _medicine-bags_ is buried wis him.

Oui, Monsieur, so it never can be got by any boday. Bien. I hap to tink one day wen we was live in de mous of Yellow Stone, now is time, and I avait said to Monsieur Cataline, que pensez vous? _Kon-te-wonda_ (un des chefs du) (pardón, one of de chiefs, of de Knisteneaux) has die tó-day. Il ayait une _medicine-bag_ magnifique, et extremement curieux; il est composé d’un, it is made (pardón, si vous plait) of de wite wolf skin, ornement et stuff wid tousand tings wich we shall see, ha? Good luck! Suppose Monsieur Cataline, I have seen him just now. I av see de _medicine-bag_; laid on his breast avec his hands crossed ovare it. Que pensez vous? I can get him to-night, ha? If you will keep him, if you shall not tell, ha? ’Tis no harm—’tis no steal—he is dead, ha? Well, you shall _see_. But, would you not be afraid, Ba’tiste, (said Monsieur Cataline), to take from dis poor fellow his medicines (or mysteries) on which he has rest all his hopes in dis world, and de world to come? Pardón, je n’ai pas peur; non, Monsieur, ne rien de peur. I nevare saw ghost—I have not fear, mais, súppose, it is not right, éxact; but I have grand disposition pour for to obligé my friend, et le curiosité moimeme, pour to see wat it is made of; suppose tó-night I shall go, ha? ‘Well, Ba’tiste, I have no objection (said Monsieur Cataline) if your heart does not fail you, for I will be very glads to get him, and will make you a handsome present for it, but I think it will be a cold and gloomy kind of business.’ Nevare mind, Monsieur Cataline (I said) provide he is well dead, _perfect dead_! Well, I had see les Knisteneaux when dey ave bury de chap—I ave watch close, and I ave see how de medicine-bags was put. It was fix pretty tight by some cord around his bellay, and den some skins was wrap many times áround him—he was put down in de hole dug for him, and some flat stones and some little dirt was laid on him, only till next day, wen some grand ceremonays was to be pérform ovare him, and den de hole was to be fill up; now was de only time possibe for de _medicine-bag_, ha? I ave very pretty little wife at dat times, Assinneboin squaw, and we sleep in one of de stores inside of de Fort, de Trade-house, you know, ha?

“So you may súppose I was all de day perplex to know how I should go, somebody may watch—súppose, he may not be dead! not quite dead, ha? nevare mind—le jour was bien long, et le nuit dismal, _dismal_! oh by gar _it was dismal_! plien, plien (pardon) full of apprehension, mais sans _peur_, je _navais pas peur_! So some time aftere midnights, wen it was bout right time pour go, I made start, very light, so my wife must not wake. Oh diable l’imagination! quel solitude! well, I have go very well yet, I am pass de door, and I am pass de gate, and I am at lengts arrive at de grave! súppose ‘now Ba’tiste, courage, courage! now is de times come.’ Well, suppose, I am not fraid of _dead man_, mais, perhaps, dese _medicine-bag_ is give by de Grande Esprit to de Ingin for someting? possibe! I will let him keep it. I shall go back! No, Monsieur Cataline will laughs at me. I must have him, ma foi, mon courage! so I climb down very careful into de grave, mais, as I déscend, my heart rise up into my mouse! Oh mon Dieu! courage Ba’tiste, courage! ce n’est pas _l’homme_ dat I fear, mais le _medicine_, le _medicine_. So den I ave lift out de large stones, I ave put out my head in de dark, and I ave look all de contré round; ne personne, ne personne—no bodé in sight! Well, I ave got softly down on my knees ovare him, (oh, courage! courage! oui) and wen I ave unwrap de robe, I av all de time say, ‘pardon, courage! pardon, courage! untill I ad got de skins all off de bodé; I ave den take hold of de cord to untie, mais!! (dans l’instant) two cold hands seize me by de wrists! and I was just dead—I was petrifact in one instant. Oh St. Esprit! I could just see in de dark two eyes glaring like fire sur upon me! and den, (oh, eugh!) it spoke to me, ‘Who are you?’ (Sacré, vengeance! it will not do to deceive him, no,) ‘I am Ba’tiste, _poor_ Ba’tiste!’ ‘Then thou art surely mine, (as he clenched both arms tight around my boday) lie still Ba’tiste.’ Oh, holy Vierge! St. Esprit! O mon Dieu! I could not breathe! miserable! je sui perdu! oh pourquoi have I been such fool to get into dese cold, cold arms! ‘Ba’tiste? (drawing me some tighter and tighter!) do you not belong to me, Ba’tiste?’ Yes, súppose! oh diable! belong? Oui, oui, je suis certainment perdu, lost, lost, for evare! _Oh! can you not possibe let me go?_ ‘No, Ba’tiste, we must never part.’ Grand Dieu! c’est finis, finis, finis avec moi! “Then you do not love me any more, Ba’tiste?” Quel! quoi! what!! est ce vous, _Wee-ne-on-ka_? ‘Yes, Ba’tiste, it is the _Bending Willow_ who holds you, she that loves you and will not let you go? Are you dreaming Ba’tiste?’ Oui, diable, ————!”

“Well, Ba’tiste, that’s a very good story, and very well told; I presume you never tried again to get a medicine-bag?”

“Non, Monsieur Bogard, je vous assure, I was satisfy wis de mistakes dat night, pour for je crois qu’il fut l’Esprit, le Grand Esprit.”

After this, my entertaining companions sung several amusing songs, and then called upon me for another story. Which Mr. Wood had already heard me tell several times, and which he particularly called for; as

“THE STORY OF THE DOG,”

and which I began as follows:—

“Well, some time ago, when I was drifting down the mighty Missouri, in a little canoe, with two hired men, Bogard and Ba’tiste, (and in this manner _did_ we glide along) amid all the pretty scenes and ugly, that decked the banks of that river, from the mouth of the Yellow Stone, to St. Louis, a distance of _only_ two thousand miles; Bogard and Ba’tiste plied their paddles and I _steered_, amid snag and sand-bar—amongst drift logs and herds of swimming buffaloes—our beds were uniformly on the grass, or upon some barren beach, which we often chose, to avoid the suffocating clouds of musquitoes; our fire was (by the way we had none at night) kindled at sundown, under some towering bluff—our supper cooked and eaten, and we off again, floating some four or five miles after nightfall, when our canoe was landed at random, on some unknown shore. In whispering silence and darkness our buffalo robes were drawn out and spread upon the grass, and our bodies stretched upon them; our pistols were belted to our sides, and our rifles always slept in our arms. In this way we were encamped, and another robe drawn over us, head and foot, under which our iron slumbers were secure from the tread of all foes saving that of the sneaking gangs of wolves, who were nightly serenading us with their harmonics, and often quarrelling for the privilege of chewing off the corners of the robe, which served us as a blanket. ‘Caleb’ (the grizzly bear) was often there too, leaving the print of his deep impressed footsteps where he had perambulated, reconnoitring, though not disturbing us. Our food was simply buffalo meat from day to day, and from morning till night, for coffee and bread we had not. The fleece (hump) of a fat cow, was the luxury of luxuries; and for it we would step ashore, or as often level our rifles upon the ‘slickest’ of the herds from our canoe, as they were grazing upon the banks. Sometimes the antelope, the mountain-sheep, and so the stately elk contributed the choicest cuts for our little larder; and at others, while in the vicinity of war-parties, where we dared not to fire our guns, our boat, was silently steered into some little cove or eddy, our hook and line dipped, and we trusted to the bite of a catfish for our suppers: if we got him, he was sometimes too large and tough; and if we got him not, we would swear, (not at all) and go to bed.

“Our meals were generally cooked and eaten on piles of driftwood, where our fire was easily kindled, and a peeled log (which we generally straddled) did admirably well for a seat, and a table to eat from.

“In this manner did we glide away from day to day, with anecdote and fun to shorten the time, and just enough of the _spice of danger_ to give vigour to our stomachs, and keenness to our appetites—making and meeting accident and incident sufficient for a ‘book.’ Two hundred miles from the mouth of Yellow Stone brought us to the village of the kind and gentlemanly Mandans. With them I lived for some time—was welcomed—taken gracefully by the arm, by their plumed dignitaries, and feasted in their hospitable lodges. Much have I already said of these people, and more of them, a great deal, I may say at a future day; but now, to our ‘_story_.’ As _preamble_, however, having launched our light canoe at the Mandan village, shook hands with the chiefs and braves, and took the everlasting farewell glance at those _models_, which I wept to turn from; we dipped our paddles, and were again gliding off upon the mighty water, on our way to St. Louis. We travelled fast, and just as the village of the Mandans, and the bold promontory on which it stands, were changing to blue, and ‘dwindling into nothing,’ we heard the startling yells, and saw in distance behind us, the troop that was gaining upon us! their red shoulders were bounding over the grassy bluffs—their hands extended, and robes waving with signals for us to stop! In a few moments they were opposite to us on the bank, and I steered my boat to the shore. They were arranged for my reception, with amazement and orders imperative stamped on every brow. ‘Mi-neek-e-sunk-te-ka’ (the mink), they exclaimed, ‘is dying! the picture which you made of her is too much like her—you put so much of her into it, that when your boat took it away from our village, it drew a part of her life away with it—she is bleeding from her mouth—she is puking up all her blood; by taking that away, you are drawing the strings out of her heart, and they will soon break; we must take her picture back, and then she will get well—your _medicine_ is great, it is too great; but we wish you well.’ Mr. Kipp, their Trader, came with the party, and interpreted as above. I unrolled my bundle of portraits, and though I was unwilling to part with it (for she was a beautiful girl), yet I placed it in their hands, telling them that I wished her well; and I was exceedingly glad to get my boat peaceably under way again, and into the current, having taken another and everlasting shake of the hands. They rode back at full speed with the portrait; but intelligence which I have since received from there, informs me that the girl died; and that I am for ever to be considered as the cause of her misfortunes. This is not _the_ ‘_story_,’ however, but I will tell it as soon as I can come to it. We dropped off, and down the rolling current again, from day to day, until at length the curling smoke of the Riccarees announced their village in view before us!

“We trembled and quaked, for all boats not stoutly armed, steal by them in the dead of night. We muffled our paddles, and instantly dropped under some willows, where we listened to the yelping, barking rabble, until sable night had drawn her curtain around (though it was not _sable_, for the moon arose, to our great mortification and alarm, in full splendour and brightness), when, at eleven o’clock, we put out to the middle of the stream—silenced our paddles, and trusted to the current to waft us by them. We lay close in our boat with a pile of green bushes over us, making us nothing in the world but a ‘floating tree-top.’ On the bank, in front of the village, was enacting at that moment, a scene of the most frightful and thrilling nature. An hundred torches were swung about in all directions, giving us a full view of the group that were assembled, and some fresh scalps were hung on poles, and were then going through the nightly ceremony that is performed about them for a certain number of nights, composed of the frightful and appalling shrieks, and yells, and gesticulations of the _scalp-dance_.[31]

“In addition to this multitude of demons (as they looked), there were some hundreds of cackling women and girls bathing in the river on the edge of a sand-bar, at the lower end of the village; at which place the stream drifted our small craft in, close to the shore, till the moon lit their shoulders, their foreheads, chins, noses! and they stood, half-merged, like mermaids, and gazed upon us! singing ‘_Chee-na-see-nun, chee-na-see-nun ke-mon-shoo kee-ne-he-na, ha-way-tah? shee-sha, shee-sha_;’ ‘How do you do, how do you do? where are you going, old tree? Come here, come here.’ ‘_Lah-kee-hoon! lali kee-hoon! natoh, catogh!_’ (‘A canoe, a canoe! see the paddle!!’) In a moment the songs were stopped! the lights were out—the village in an instant was in darkness, and dogs were muzzled! and nimbly did our paddles ply the water, till spy-glass told us at morning’s dawn, that the bank and boundless prairies of grass and green that were all around us, were free from following footsteps of friend or foe. A sleepless night had passed, and lightly tripped our bark, and swift, over the swimming tide during _that_ day; which was one, not of pleasure, but of trembling excitement; while our eyes were continually scanning the distant scenes that were behind us, and our muscles throwing us forward with tireless energy. * * * * * * * * * Night came upon us again, and we landed at the foot of a towering bluff, where the musquitoes met us with ten thousand kicks and cuffs, and importunities, until we were choked and strangled into almost irrevocable despair and madness.[32]

“A ‘_snaggy bend_’ announced its vicinity just below us by its roaring; and hovering night told us, that we could not with safety ‘undertake it.’

“The only direful alternative was now in full possession of us, (I am not going to tell the ‘_story_’ _yet_), for just below us was a stately bluff of 200 feet in height, rising out of the water, at an angle of forty-five degrees, entirely denuded in front, and constituted of clay. ‘Montons, montons!’ said Ba’tiste, as he hastily clambered up its steep inclined plane on his hands and feet, over its parched surface, which had been dried in the sun, ‘essayez vous, essayez! ce’n’est pas difficile Monsr. Cataline,’ exclaimed he, from an elevation of about 100 feet from the water, where he had found a level platform, of some ten or fifteen feet in diameter, and stood at its brink, waving his hand over the twilight landscape that lay in partial obscurity beneath him.

“‘Nous avons ici une belle place pour for to get some _slips_, some _coot slips_, vare de dam Riccaree et de dam muskeet shall nevare get si haut, by Gar! montez, montez en haut.’

“Bogard and I took our buffalo robes and our rifles, and with difficulty hung and clung along in the crevices with fingers and toes, until we reached the spot. We found ourselves about half-way up the precipice, which continued almost perpendicular above us; and within a few yards of us, on each side, it was one unbroken slope from the bottom to the top. In this snug little nook were we most appropriately fixed, as we thought, for a warm summer’s night, out of the reach entirely of musquitoes, and all other earthly obstacles, as we supposed, to the approaching gratification, for which the toils and fatigues of the preceding day and night, had so admirably prepared us. We spread one of our robes, and having ranged ourselves side by side upon it, and drawn the other one over us, we commenced, without further delay, upon the pleasurable forgetfulness of toils and dangers which had agitated us for the past day and night. We had got just about to that stage of our enjoyment which is almost resistless, and nearly bidding defiance to every worldly obstrusive obstacle, when the pattering of rain on our buffalo robes opened our eyes to the dismal scene that was getting up about us! _My_ head was out, and on the watch; but the other two skulls were flat upon the ground, and there chained by the unyielding links of iron slumber. The blackest of all clouds that ever swept hill tops of grass, of clay, or towering rock, was hanging about us—its lightning’s glare was incessantly flashing us to blindness; and the giddy elevation on which we were perched, seemed to tremble with the roar and jar of distant, and the instant bolts and cracks of present thunder! The rain poured and fell in torrents (its not enough); it seemed _floating_ around and above us in waves succeeding waves, which burst upon the sides of the immense avalanche of clay that was above, and _slid_ in _sheets_, upon us! Heavens! what a scene was here. The river beneath us and in distance, with windings infinite, whitening into silver, and trees, to deathlike paleness, at the lightning’s flash! All about us was drenched in rain and mud. At this juncture, poor Ba’tiste was making an effort to raise his head and shoulders—he was in agony! he had slept himself, and _slipt_ himself partly from the robe, and his elbows were fastened in the mud.

“‘Oh sacré, ’tis too bad by Gar! we can get some _slips_ nevare.’

“‘Ugh! (replied Yankee Bogard) we shall get ‘slips’ enough directly, by darn, for we are all afloat, and shall go into the river by and by, in the twinkling of a goat’s eye, if we don’t look out.’

“We were nearly afloat, sure enough, and our condition growing more and more dreary every moment, and our only alternative was, to fold up our nether robe and sit upon it; hanging the other one over our heads, which formed a roof, and shielded the rain from us. To give compactness to the _trio_, and bring us into such shape as would enable the robe to protect us all, we were obliged to put our backs and occiputs together, and keep our heads from nodding. In this way we were enabled to divide equally the robe that we sat upon, as well as receive mutual benefit from the one that was above us. We thus managed to protect ourselves in the most important points, leaving our feet and legs (from necessity) to the mercy of mud.

“Thus we were re-encamped. ‘A pretty mess’ (said I), we look like the ‘three graces;’—‘de tree grace, by Gar!’ said Ba’tiste. ‘Grace! (whispered Bogard) yes, it’s all _grace_ here; and I believe we’ll all be buried in _grace_ in less than an hour.’

“‘Monsr. Cataline! excusez my back, si vous plait. Bogard! comment, comment?—bonne nuit, Messieurs. Oh! mon Dieu, mon Dieu! Je vous rends grace—je vous prie pour for me sauver ce nuit—delivrez nous! delivrez nous! Je vous adore, Saint Esprit—la Vierge Marie—oh je vous rends grace! pour for de m’avoir conservé from de dam Riccree et de diable muskeet. Eh bien! eh bien!’

“In this miserable and despairing mood poor Ba’tiste dropped off gradually into a most tremendous sleep, whilst Bogard and I were holding on to our corners of the robe—recounting over the dangers and excitements of the day and night past, as well as other scenes of our adventurous lives, whilst we laid (or rather sat) looking at the lightning, with our eyes shut. Ba’tiste snored louder and louder, until sleep had got her strongest grip upon him; and his specific gravity became so great, that he pitched forward, pulling our corners of the robe nearly off from our heads, reducing us to the necessity of drawing upon them till we brought the back of his head in contact with ours, again, and his body in an erect posture, when he suddenly exclaimed.

“‘Bon jour, Monsr. Bogard: bon jour, Monsr. Cataline; n’est ce pas morning, pretty near?’

“‘No, its about midnight.’

“‘Quel temps?’

“Why it rains as hard as ever.

“‘Oh diable, I wish I was _tó hell_.’

“‘You may be there yet before morning, by darn.’

“‘Pardón! pardón, Monsr Bogard—I shall not go to night, not _to_ night, I was joke—mais! dis is not joke, sùppose—oh vengeance! I am slip down considerable—mais I shall not go to hell quite—I am slip off de seat!’

“‘What! you are sitting in the mud?’

“‘Oui, Bogard, in de muds! mais, I am content, my _head_ is not in de mud. You see Bogard, I avait been sleep, et I raisee my head pretty suddain, and keepee my e back e straight, et I am slip off of de seat. Now, Monsr. Bogard you shall keepee you head straight and moove————————leet, at de bottom?————————remercie, Bogard, remercie,————eh bien,——————ah well——————————ha—ha—h——a—by Gar, Bogard, I have a de good joke. Monsr. Cataline will paintez my likeeness as I am now look—he will paint us all—I am tink he will make putty coot view? ha-ha-ha-a——we should see very putty landeescape aboutee de legs, ha? Ha——ha——h————a——a.’

“Oh, Ba’tiste, for Heaven’s sake stop your laughing and go to sleep; we’ll talk and laugh about this all day to-morrow.

“‘Pardón, Monsr. Cataline, (excusez) have you got some slips?’

“No, Ba’tiste, I have not been asleep. Bogard has been entertaining me these two hours whilst you was asleep, with a description of a buffalo hunt, which took place at the mouth of Yellow Stone, about a year ago. It must have been altogether a most splendid and thrilling scene, and I have been paying the strictest attention to it, for I intend to write it down and send it to New York for the cits to read.”

“‘I like’e dat much, Monsr. Cataline, and I shall take much plaisir pout vous donner to give déscript of someting, provide you will write him down, ha?’

“Well Ba’tiste, go on, I am endeavouring to learn everything that’s curious and entertaining, belonging to this country.

“‘Well Monsr. Cataline, I shall tell you someting very much entertain, mais, but, you will nevare tell somebody how we have been fix to night? ha?’

“No, Ba’tiste, most assuredly I shall never mention it nor make painting of it.

“‘Well, je commence,—diable Bogard! you shall keep your back straight you must sit up, ou il n’est pas possibe for to keep de robe ovare all. Je commence, Mons. Cataline, to describe some _Dog Feast_, which I attend among de dam Pieds noirs. I shall describe some grande, magnifique ceremonay, and you will write him down?’

“Yes, I’ll put it on paper.

“‘Pardón, pardón, I am get most to slip, I shall tell him to-morrow, pérhaps I shall————eh bien;—but you will nevare tell how we look, ha! Monsr. Cataline?’

“No Ba’tiste, I’ll never mention it.

“‘Eh bien————bon nuit.’

“In this condition we sat, and in this manner we nodded away the night, as far as I recollect of it, catching the broken bits of sleep, (that were even painful to us when we got them), until the morning’s rays at length gave us a view of the scene that was around us!! Oh, all ye brick-makers, ye plasterers, and soft-soap manufacturers! put all your imaginations in a ferment together, and see if ye can invent a scene like this! Here _was_ a ‘fix’ to be sure. The sun arose in splendour and in full, upon this everlasting and boundless scene of ‘_saft soap_’ and grease, which admitted us not to move. The whole hill was constituted entirely of tough clay, and on each side and above us there was no possibility of escape; and one single step over the brink of the place where we had ascended, would inevitably have launched us into the river below, the distance of an hundred feet! Here, looking like hogs just risen from a mud puddle, or a buffalo bull in his wallow, we sat, (_and had to sit_,) admiring the wide-spread and beautiful landscape that lay steeping and smoking before us, and our little boat, that looked like a nutshell beneath us, hanging at the shore; telling stories and filling up the while with nonsensical garrulity, until the sun’s warming rays had licked up the mud, and its dried surface, about eleven o’clock, gave us foothold, when we cautiously, but safely descended to the bottom; and then, at the last jump, which brought his feet to _terra firma_, Ba’tiste exclaimed, ‘Well, we have cheatee de dam muskeet, ha!’”

And this, reader, is not ‘_the story_,’ but one of the little incidents which stood exactly in the way, and could not well be got over without a slight notice, being absolutely necessary, as a key, or kind of glossary, for the proper understanding of the tale that is to be told. There is _blood_ and _butchery_ in the story that is now to be related; and it should be read by every one who would form a correct notion of the force of Indian superstitions.

Three mighty warriors, proud and valiant, licked the dust, and all in consequence of one of the portraits I painted; and as my brush was the prime mover of all these misfortunes, and my life was sought to heal the wound, I must be supposed to be knowing to and familiar with the whole circumstances, which were as—(I was going to say, as follow) but my want of time and your want of patience, compel me to break off here, and I promise to go right on with _the story of the Dog_ in my next Letter, and I advise the reader not to neglect or overlook it.

[23] This very distinguished old chief, I have learned, died a few
weeks after I painted his portrait.

[24] The reader and traveller who may have this book with him,
should follow the Côteau a few miles to the North of the Quarry,
for the highest elevation and greatest sublimity of view.

[25] I have in former epistles, several times spoken of the red
pipes of the Indians which are found in almost every tribe of
Indians on the Continent; and in every instance have, I venture
to say, been brought from the Côteau des Prairies, inasmuch as no
tribe of Indians that I have yet visited, have ever apprized me
of any other source than this; and the stone from which they are
all manufactured, is of the same character exactly, and different
from any known mineral compound ever yet discovered in any part
of Europe, or other parts of the American Continent. This may be
thought a broad assertion—yet it is one I have ventured to make
(and one I should have had no motive for making, except for the
purpose of eliciting information, if there be any, on a subject
so curious and so exceedingly interesting). In my +Indian Museum+
there can always be seen a great many beautiful specimens of this
mineral selected on the spot, by myself, embracing all of its
numerous varieties; and I challenge the world to produce anything
like it, except it be from the same locality. In a following Letter
will be found a further account of it, and its chemical analysis.

[26] I am aware that this interesting fact may be opposed by
subsequent travellers, who will find nobody but the Sioux upon
this ground, who now claim exclusive right to it; and for the
satisfaction of those who doubt, I refer them to Lewis and Clark’s
Tour thirty-three years since, before the influence of Traders
had deranged the system and truth of things, in these regions. I
have often conversed with General Clark, of St. Louis, on this
subject, and he told me explicitly, and authorized me to say it to
the world, that every tribe on the Missouri told him they had been
to this place, and that the Great Spirit kept the peace amongst
his red children on that ground, where they had smoked with their
enemies.

[27] The medicine (or leaping) rock is a part of the precipice
which has become severed from the main part, standing about seven
or eight feet from the wall, just equal in height, and about seven
feet in diameter.

It stands like an immense column of thirty-five feet high, and
highly polished on its top and sides. It requires a daring effort
to leap on to its top from the main wall, and back again, and many
a heart has sighed for the honour of the feat without daring to
make the attempt. Some few have tried it with success, and left
their arrows standing in its crevice, several of which are seen
there at this time; others have leapt the chasm and fallen from
the slippery surface on which they could not hold, and suffered
instant death upon the craggy rocks below. Every young man in
the nation is ambitious to perform this feat; and those who have
successfully done it are allowed to boast of it all their lives.
In the sketch already exhibited, there will be seen, a view of the
“leaping rock;” and in the middle of the picture, a mound, of a
conical form, of ten feet height, which was erected over the body
of a distinguished young man who was killed by making this daring
effort, about two years before I was there, and whose sad fate was
related to me by a Sioux chief, who was father of the young man,
and was visiting the Red Pipe Stone Quarry, with thirty others of
his tribe, when we were there, and cried over the grave, as he
related the story to Mr. Wood and myself, of his son’s death.

[28] On my return from the Pipe Stone Quarry, one of the old chiefs
of the Sacs, on seeing some specimens of the stone which I brought
with me from that place, observed as follows:—

“My friend, when I was young, I used to go with our young men to
the mountain of the Red Pipe, and dig out pieces for our pipes.
We do not go now; and our red pipes as you see, are few. The
Dah-co-tah’s have spilled the blood of red men on that place, and
the Great Spirit is offended. The white traders have told them to
draw their bows upon us when we go there; and they have offered us
many of the pipes for sale, but we do not want to smoke them, for
we know that the Great Spirit is offended. My mark is on the rocks
in many places, but I shall never see them again. They lie where
the Great Spirit sees them, for his eye is over that place, and he
sees everything that is here.”

Ke-o-kuck chief of the Sacs and Foxes, when I asked him whether he
had ever been there, replied—

“No, I have never seen it; it is in our enemies’ country,—I wish it
was in ours—I would sell it to the whites for a great many boxes of
money.”

[29] Many and strong are the recollections of the Sioux and
other tribes, of their alliance with the British in the last and
revolutionary wars, of which I have met many curious instances,
one of which was correctly reported in the London Globe, from my
Lectures, and I here insert it.—

THE GLOBE AND TRAVELLER.

“_Indian Knowledge of English Affairs_—Mr. Catlin, in one of his
Lectures on the manners and customs of the North American Indians,
during the last week, related a very curious occurrence, which
excited a great deal of surprise and some considerable mirth
amongst his highly respectable and numerous audience. Whilst
speaking of the great and warlike tribe of Sioux or Dahcotas, of
40,000 or 50,000, he stated that many of this tribe, as well as of
several others, although living entirely in the territory of the
United States, and several hundred miles south of her Majesty’s
possessions, were found cherishing a lasting friendship for the
English, whom they denominate Saganosh. And in very many instances
they are to be seen wearing about their necks large silver medals,
with the portrait of George III. in bold relief upon them. These
medals were given to them as badges of merit during the last war
with the United States, when these warriors were employed in the
British service.

“The Lecturer said, that whenever the word Saganosh was used,
it seemed to rouse them at once; that on several occasions when
Englishmen had been in his company as fellow-travellers, they had
marked attentions paid them by these Indians as Saganoshes. And on
one occasion, in one of his last rambles in that country, where
he had painted several portraits in a small village of Dahcotas,
the chief of the band positively refused to sit; alleging as his
objection that the pale faces, who were not to be trusted, might
do some injury to his portrait, and his health or his life might
be affected by it. The painter, as he was about to saddle his
horse for his departure, told the Indian that he was a Saganosh,
and was going across the Big Salt Lake, and was very sorry that
he could not carry the picture of so distinguished a man. At this
intelligence the Indian advanced, and after a hearty grip of the
hand, very carefully and deliberately withdrew from his bosom, and
next to his naked breast, a large silver medal, and turning his
face to the painter, pronounced with great vehemence and emphasis
the word Sag-a-nosh! The artist, supposing that he had thus gained
his point with the Indian Sagamore, was making preparation to
proceed with his work, when the Indian still firmly denied him
the privilege—holding up the face of his Majesty (which had got a
superlative brightness by having been worn for years against his
naked breast), he made this singular and significant speech:—‘When
you cross the Big Salt Lake, tell my Great Father that you saw his
face, and it was bright!’ To this the painter replied, ‘I can never
see your Great Father, he is dead!’ The poor Indian recoiled in
silence, and returned his medal to his bosom, entered his wigwam,
at a few paces distant, where he seated himself amidst his family
around his fire, and deliberately lighting his pipe, passed it
around in silence.

“When it was smoked out he told them the news he had heard, and in
a few moments returned to the traveller again, who was preparing
with his party to mount their horses, and enquired whether the
Saganoshes had no chief. The artist replied in the affirmative,
saying that the present chief of the Saganoshes is a _young_ and
_very beautiful woman_. The Sagamore expressed great surprise and
some incredulity at this unaccountable information; and being
fully assured by the companions of the artist that his assertion
was true, the Indian returned again quite hastily to his wigwam,
called his own and the neighbouring families into his presence, lit
and smoked another pipe, and then communicated the intelligence
to them, to their great surprise and amusement; after which he
walked out to the party about to start off, and advancing to the
painter (or Great Medicine as they called him), with a sarcastic
smile on his face, in due form, and with much grace and effect, he
carefully withdrew again from his bosom the polished silver medal,
and turning the face to the painter, said, ‘Tell my _Great Mother_,
that you saw our Great Father, and that we keep his face bright!’”

[30] This gentleman, the summer previous to this, while I was
in company with him at Prairie du Chien, gave me a very graphic
account of the Red Pipe Stone Quarry, and made for me, from
recollection, a chart of it, which I yet possess, and which was
drawn with great accuracy.

[31] But a few weeks before I left the mouth of Yellow Stone, the
news arrived at that place, that a party of trappers and traders
had burnt two Riccarees to death, on the prairies, and M‘Kenzie
advised me not to stop at the Riccarree village, but to pass them
in the night; and after I had got some hundreds of miles below
them, I learned that they were dancing two white men’s scalps taken
in revenge for that inhuman act.

[32] The greater part of the world can never, I am sure, justly
appreciate the meaning and application of the above sentence,
unless they have an opportunity to encounter a swarm of these
tormenting insects, on the banks of the Missouri or Mississippi
river.

[TN1] Transcriber's note: “we will fight you” seems like an odd thing
to say in this context, but that is what the print edition has. Maybe
it should be “we will fight for you”?

LETTER—No. 55.

RED PIPE STONE QUARRY, _CÔTEAU DES PRAIRIES_.

Well, to proceed with the _Story of the Dog_, which I promised; (after which I shall record the tale of _Wi-jun-jon_, the pigeon’s egg head), which was also told by me during the last night, before we retired to rest.

“I think I said that my little canoe had brought us down the Missouri, about eight hundred miles below the mouth of Yellow Stone, when we landed at Laidlaw’s Trading-house, which is twelve hundred miles above civilization and the city of St. Louis. If I did _not_ say it, it is no matter, for it was even so; and ‘Ba’tiste and Bogard who had paddled, and I who had steered,’ threw our little bark out upon the bank, and taking our paddles in our hands, and our ‘_plunder_’ upon our backs, crossed the plain to the American Fur Company’s Fort, in charge of Mr. Laidlaw, who gave us a hearty welcome; and placed us in an instant at his table, which happened at that moment to be stationed in the middle of the floor, distributing to its surrounding guests the simple blessings which belong to that fair and silent land of buffalo-tongues and beavers’ tails! A bottle of good Madeira wine sprung (à l’instant) upon the corner of the table, before us, and _swore, point blank_, to the welcome that was expressed in every feature of our host. After the usual salutations, the news, and a glass of wine, Mr. Laidlaw began thus;—“Well, my friend, you have got along well, so far; and I am glad to see you. You have seen a great many fine Indians since you left here, and have, no doubt, procured many interesting and valuable _portraits_; but there has been a deal of trouble about the ‘_pictures_,’ in this neighbourhood, since you went away. Of course, you have heard nothing of it at the Yellow Stone; but amongst us, I assure you, there has not a day passed since you left, without some fuss or excitement about the portraits. The ‘Dog’ is not yet dead, though he has been shot at several times, and had his left arm broken. The ‘Little _Bear’s_’ friends have overtaken the brother of the Dog, that fine fellow whom you painted, and killed him! They are now sensible that they have sacrificed one of the best men in the nation, for one of the greatest rascals; and they are more desperately bent on revenge than ever. They have made frequent enquiries for you, knowing that you had gone up the river; alleging that you had been the cause of these deaths, and that if the Dog could not be found, they should look to you for a settlement of that unfortunate affair!

“‘That unlucky business, taken altogether, has been the greatest piece of _medicine_ (mystery), and created the greatest excitement amongst the Sioux, of anything that has happened since I came into the country. My dear Sir, you must not continue your voyage down the river, in your unprotected condition. A large party of the ‘Little Bear’s’ band, are now encamped on the river below, and for you to stop there (which you might be obliged to do), would be to endanger your life.’” * * * Reader, sit still, and let me change ends with my story, (which is done in one moment,) and then, from a relation of the circumstances which elicited the friendly advice and caution of Mr. Laidlaw just mentioned, you will be better enabled to understand the nature of the bloody affair which I am undertaking to relate.

“About four months previous to the moment I am now speaking of, I had passed up the Missouri river by this place, on the steam-boat Yellow Stone, on which I ascended the Missouri to the mouth of Yellow Stone river. While going up, this boat, having on board the United States Indian agent, Major Sanford—Messrs. Pierre, Chouteau, McKenzie of the American Fur Company, and myself, as passengers, stopped at this trading-post, and remained several weeks; where were assembled six hundred families of Sioux Indians, their tents being pitched in close order on an extensive prairie on the bank of the river.

“This trading-post, in charge of Mr. Laidlaw, is the concentrating place, and principal trading depôt, for this powerful tribe, who number, when all taken together, something like forty or fifty thousand. On this occasion, five or six thousand had assembled to see the steam-boat and meet the Indian agent, which, and whom they knew were to arrive about this time. During the few weeks that we remained there, I was busily engaged painting my portraits, for here were assembled the principal chiefs and _medicine-men_ of the nation. To these people, the operations of my brush were entirely new and unaccountable, and excited amongst them the greatest curiosity imaginable. Every thing else (even the steam-boat) was abandoned for the pleasure of crowding into my painting-room, and witnessing the result of each fellow’s success, as he came out from under the operation of my brush.

“They had been at first much afraid of the consequences that might flow from so strange and unaccountable an operation; but having been made to understand my views, they began to look upon it as a great _honour_, and afforded me the opportunities that I desired; exhibiting the utmost degree of vanity for their appearance, both as to features and dress. The consequence was, that my room was filled with the chiefs who sat around, arranged according to the rank or grade which they held in the estimation of their tribe; and in this order it became necessary for me to paint them, to the exclusion of those who never signalized themselves, and were without any distinguishing character in society.

“The first man on the list, was _Ha-wan-ghee-ta_ (one horn), head chief of the nation, of whom I have heretofore spoken; and after him the subordinate chiefs, or chiefs of bands, according to the estimation in which they were held by the chief and the tribe. My models were thus _placed_ before me, whether ugly or beautiful, all the same, and I saw at once there was to be trouble somewhere, as I could not paint them all. The medicine-men or high priests, who are esteemed by many the oracles of the nation, and the most important men in it—becoming jealous, commenced their harangues, outside of the lodge, telling them that they were all fools—that those who were painted would soon die in consequence; and that these pictures, which had life to a considerable degree in them, would live in the hands of white men after they were dead, and make them sleepless and endless trouble.

“Those whom I had painted, though evidently somewhat alarmed, were unwilling to acknowledge it, and those whom I had not painted, unwilling to be outdone in courage, allowed me the privilege; braving and defying the danger that they were evidently more or less in dread of. Feuds began to arise too, among some of the chiefs of the different bands, who (not unlike some instances amongst the chiefs and warriors of our own country), had looked upon their rival chiefs with unsleeping jealousy, until it had grown into disrespect and enmity. An instance of this kind presented itself at this critical juncture, in this assembly of inflammable spirits, which changed in a moment, its features, from the free and jocular garrulity of an Indian levee, to the frightful yells and agitated treads and starts of an Indian battle! I had in progress at this time a portrait of _Mah-to-tchee-ga_ (little bear); of the _Onc-pa-pa band_, a noble fine fellow, who was sitting before me as I was painting (+plate+ 273). I was painting almost a profile view of his face, throwing a part of it into shadow, and had it nearly finished, when an Indian by the name of _Shon-ka_ (the dog), chief of the _Caz-a-zshee-ta_ band (+plate+ 275); an ill-natured and surly man—despised by the chiefs of every other band, entered the wigwam in a sullen mood, and seated himself on the floor in front of my sitter, where he could have a full view of the picture in its operation. After sitting a while with his arms folded, and his lips stiffly arched with contempt; he sneeringly spoke thus:—